Come as You Are
by tiffanyanne3
Summary: "It's just a piece of plain notebook paper, college ruled, folded into a neat square, but it's so much more than that. You're right. I was oblivious to your existence. But then you sent me this letter." It's 1996 in Seattle, and Edward cares about blending in, not fitting in. Until Bella takes the time to really see him. BxE, all-human. Rated M for the usual reasons.
1. Chapter 1

_February 29, 1996_

_Dear Edward,_

_You are completely oblivious to my existence. But somehow, even though we don't know each other, I'm fascinated by everything about you._

_Writing an anonymous note is such a cop-out. I know. But I'm too much of a chicken shit to tell you these things in person. Anyway, you'd probably look at me like I was crazy and run in the other direction. I'm not. Crazy, I mean._

_The first time I saw you, I was hiding out in Alice Brandon's car. She had something to give you (I don't remember what), and we stopped by your house on the way to somewhere else. The other thing I don't remember was what my first thought was when I saw you step out onto your front porch. I just know that I was instantly and secretly enamored. But that's not why I'm writing this._

_I'm writing because I think you're special. God, that sounds stupid. But hear me out. At the risk of sounding like a stalker, I've been watching you. Not in a creepy way. I've just seen you around school, and I've…paid attention, I guess. You hang out with the slacker kids, and I've watched you goof off with them at lunch period, playing Hacky Sack and sneaking off to the parking lot with your skateboards. But I sense that you're a world apart from the rest of your crowd. There's something different about you. Something more._

_The thing is that I get it. I feel invisible sometimes, partly due to my own design and partly because I'm so incredibly...unremarkable. Maybe even misunderstood. But I sort of like it that way. So if I had to name whatever it is about you that leaves me so intrigued, I guess I'd call it something like similitude. Like that line from "1979": No apologies ever need be made, I know you better than you fake it…_

_Please understand that this isn't a plea to meet. Even though I'd love to know you, I'm afraid that I'm building this version of you in my head that's all wrong. I'm afraid that it's something you can't or won't measure up to. My only aim in writing this letter is to tell you that I see you. You might think you're invisible. That you simply blend. To me, you don't. I'm utterly captivated by what I see._

_I just thought you should know._

_~B_

* * *

It's just a piece of plain notebook paper, college ruled, folded into a neat square, but it's so much more than that. The words are black ink and girly cursive. First, they piqued my curiosity. Then they put me on edge. You're right. I _was_ oblivious to your existence. But then you sent me this letter.

I've received my fair share of notes from girls. Most of them were written in brightly colored, scented markers from girls looking to live their _Breakfast Club_ fantasies, slumming it with the grunge kid. The slacker. Your letter isn't like that. It's nondescript, something I'm thankful for, because if it had been another chemically scented note, it probably would've gone right into the trash can like the other girls' notes.

I get the feeling you're not one of those girls.

The words you wrote are so purposeful. They seem so carefully thought out. Insightful. There's no way you're like them.

I want to ask you…_why me? _Why do you think _I'm_ so different? Aren't most of us just stumbling through high school with a hundred different personalities under our skin, struggling to find out which one is the real thing? I wonder what yours are.

In my head, you're shy. Quiet. Smart. Bookish, maybe. You like good music, because you quoted the Pumpkins in your letter. Or maybe I'm completely wrong. Maybe you _are_ one of those girls whose notes I usually toss.

In my head, you're not.

In my head, you're perfect.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks to my RachelFish for the advice and her huge love for 90s-ward. I love her something fierce. These chapters will be shortish (usually a good bit longer than this first one), but there will be frequent updates, which means at least once a day. Thanks for reading. :)**


	2. Chapter 2

_March 4, 1996_

I drop my bookbag on the floor as soon as I walk through the door of my bedroom. It's been a long week, and it's only Wednesday. The local alternative station blares Stone Temple Pilots when I flip on my stereo. Perfect. Since neither of my parents are home, I open the window, spark up a joint, take a hit, and pull your letter out from between the tattered pages of the novel on my nightstand. For the hundredth time, I scan the note, lingering on the lines that make me wonder about you. If the folded square of paper hadn't been so nondescript, so innocuous and forthright, I probably wouldn't have read it, and that might have been the biggest mistake of my life.

_There's something different about you. Something more._

You're right.

You wrote that I'm different from the slackers I hang out with. I guess I am. I'm not any better or worse than my friends are. I just…care more than they do. I like to think I fool people in our smaller suburb of Seattle, but I probably don't. I care about getting good grades and getting into a good college. I care about what my parents think of me.

You wrote that you asked our mutual friend Alice Brandon about me. I wonder why I've never met you if you're close to her. She and I have known each other for ages.

You wrote that I'm a world apart from my friends. That I'm different. That there's more to me than I let on. You say I'm special. Me? I'm nothing special. And like you said, I probably don't measure up to your version of me.

But yeah, for the most part, you're right. I do want to blend. I do want people to make assumptions about me. I want to be invisible. I'm tired of being pulled in a million different directions, trying to please people I don't even care about. I wonder if you feel the same way. I wonder if you try not to care but end up failing miserably, like me.

_So if I had to name whatever it is about you that leaves me so intrigued, I guess I'd call it something like similitude._

I like that. The idea that you're like me.

You dropped your phone number at the bottom of the page, almost like an afterthought. I'd never use it. As curious as I am, I don't have that level of confidence. And it seems…ordinary. Just calling you up for a chat after reading this fucking outpouring of words you wrote just for me.

As much as I want to figure this out, I don't know how. Because I'm starting to build up a perfect version of you in my head, too. I'm almost afraid you won't measure up. It seems like such a shallow thing to worry about, but this has become important to me. This letter. Your words.

In my head, you're perfect.

But I've been wrong before.

* * *

_March 6, 1996_

I'm done. With this day that started out shitty from the moment I woke up. With Tanya Denali. In my bedroom after school, I knock back a shot of vodka—this shit's disgusting, but whatever works—and slouch down in the beanbag chair on my floor.

Tanya, my semi-girlfriend (we never really labeled whatever it is we have), takes the joint from between my lips and hits it. She hands it back to me and goes to put her new CD in my stereo before she sits on my bed. I want to get up and snap that CD in half, because Courtney Love's voice grates on my fucking nerves. But I don't have the energy.

After dating Tanya for a couple of months, I'm just not happy with her anymore. Yeah, she's hot. Yeah, she's smart and cool. And yeah, she does things to me and lets me do things to her. But we're just not good for each other. When it's good, it's _good_. But when it's bad, it's really bad.

Tanya grabs the paperback from my bedside table and leafs through it. Before I can stop her, your letter falls out. In a flash, she's got it unfolded and is scanning it, her eyes growing wider and wider by the second. "The fuck is this?"

For a second, I wonder if maybe her finding your letter means I won't have to break up with her. Maybe she'll do it for me. But _God_, that's so selfish of me. I feel like a major asshole even thinking it. "It's nothing. I—" I grab for the page, but she snatches it out of my reach.

"No, no, no," she says, a wry smile twisting her lips. She seems more amused than angry. "What _is_ this?"

We've made fun of the preppy girls and their silly notes before, but deep down, I always felt bad about it. Now, though, I'm not going to let her. I won't fucking let her mock you.

"You're oblivious to my _existence_? Is this bitch serious?" She cackles and goes on repeating some of my favorite parts. Your words sound all wrong in her mouth. I have to shut her up, or she'll ruin them for me. So I do what what I don't remotely feel like doing and pull her down to the floor with me.

"Forget it." I kiss her hard, and we fumble around on my floor. I shove my hand inside her jeans, hoping that'll do the trick.

It does. She doesn't utter another word besides the curse I catch with my lips when she's finished. She reaches for my zipper, but I turn away. It feels wrong when I still have your words in my head.

"Nah," I tell her. "I'm good."

She looks confused at first, but then she grins and straightens her clothes before going for the bottle of vodka again.

She's satisfied.

I'm satisfied. She'll forget about the letter.

* * *

I'm vaguely aware through an addled state sponsored by Drugs and Alcohol of the fact that Tanya's on the phone. Faint warning bells go off in the back of my mind as I lie back on my beanbag chair in a daze, limbs sprawled in various directions. I lift my head to follow the sound of her voice with my eyes, and when I find her, the bells turn into shrieking alarms.

_Fuck. Fucking hell._

She's sitting on the floor with her back against my bed, hunched over the phone receiver with your letter unfolded on the floor beside her. "He's _my_ boyfriend," she says in a low voice.

_Her boyfriend?_

"You didn't know. And really, I can't blame you for looking. But if I ever see anything like this again, I'll kick your ass."

"The fuck, Tanya?" I try to shout, but it comes out more like a mumble.

Her head whips around as she bangs the receiver back on its base. "Nothing!" she says. "I was just talking to…" She's never been good on the spot. She knows she's caught.

I might throw up. Whether it's from the disgust I feel toward her or courtesy of the various substances in my bloodstream, I've no idea. Maybe it's a mix of both. All I know is that I want her gone.

I clamber unsteadily to my knees and then my feet until I'm standing over her. "Get out," I growl, pointing at the door. Part of me feels bad over the way she looks up at me. She seems…scared. And she's somehow found the decency to look remorseful.

"Baby—"

"I can't right now," I slur, the fight going out of me as a wave of nausea hits hard. This seals the deal for me. I might not be so angry if I hadn't already planned to end things. But right now, if she stays, I'll say or do something I'll regret. I stumble to the radio and turn it up to drown out her argument. "Just go, Tanya."

"What did I—"

"Do you _really_ want me to answer that right now?" The blurriness at the edge of my vision clears only to be replaced by rage.

She bites her lip and looks down at the floor before she approaches me, tries to hug me goodbye. I let her do it, but my arms hang limply at my sides as I glare at her. I almost start to feel bad for being mean, but when she walks away, she takes care to step on the piece of paper I've been so careful not to crumple.

It's the last straw.

When she's gone, I turn the music down again and pick up the paper. There's a small tear at the side and a new, deep wrinkle right down the middle. I smooth it out, fold it up, and stick it under my mattress. I'll find a better, safer hiding place later. For now, I need sleep. If I weren't so fucked up, I'd lie here and torment myself over what Tanya just did to you. Maybe I'd even call you up and try to make things right. But I have no business doing anything like that in my current state. So I give in to the pull of the chemicals in my system and slip into sleep**.**

* * *

**A/N: Thanks to my dear RachelFish for the hand-holding. Remember that if you *must* review as a guest, I cannot reply to your questions. FFn doesn't let me.**


	3. Chapter 3

_March 7, 1996_

"You have to apologize." Our mutual friend's voice is sharp and too loud over the line. It's a pretty good punishment since my head is pounding, my stomach roiling after last night's indulgence. Guilt falls heavy as the fog of sleep starts to clear, and I remember everything.

Alice Brandon is commanding and loud on a regular day. On a day like this, when I'm sure she's received firsthand knowledge of the shitty thing I did to you by way of Tanya, she's got a ruthlessness the likes of which the devil himself has never experienced. "She's not like that, Edward. You can't play with her like that."

"Al," I groan, scrubbing a hand over my face as I sit up in bed. "It's not like I knew Tanya would do that. She found the note. I was fucked up. I passed out. I'm sorry. Jesus."

"Don't tell me, asshole. Tell Bella."

"Is that her name? Bella?" I test it out. It rolls off my tongue easily. I like your name. It sounds soft and sweet.

You only signed your letter _B_. To be honest, I haven't wondered what it could stand for. I was too busy going over and over the contents to worry about the signature.

"Yes, asshat. That's her name."

"Well, mine's not asshole _or _asshat," I grumble. "I broke up with Tanya."

"You did?"

"I mean I am. I will. I don't remember exactly what I said to her last night."

"Over this?" Alice's tone is full of disbelief.

"Not exactly. It's been over for a while. We just haven't acknowledged it."

"More like your dick hasn't acknowledged it."

"Hey," I say firmly. That's one thing I don't do. I don't kiss and tell. Or fuck and tell. Partly because my dad raised me to respect women. But mostly because there's nothing to talk about. I'm a seventeen-year-old guy with needs that get satisfied, but I've never had actual sex. I keep—kept—Tanya happy, obviously, and she did the same for me. But sex is something different. Maybe it's not typical for me to think so, but typical's something I've never been.

"Whatever. Anyway, you have to make this up to Bella. She's pretty upset."

"Shit," I say again. "I'm sorry."

"Save it. It's not me who needs to hear it."

There's a click, and the line goes silent.

I've got to right this. Like today. This morning.

Fuck.

* * *

This is not the way I wanted to meet you for the first time. I can't bear the thought of you being upset over me, so I have no choice. It's my own fault. I stand at the corner of the science building and kick the toe of my Vans against a loose brick, waiting. Alice arranged it. She's bringing you here. I'm about to see you for the first time, and I'm a jumble of emotions. Excited, curious, nervous, remorseful…

I wish I could've waited until Tanya was officially out of my life. I feel a little guilty doing this to her. I guess I've been mentally cheating on her ever since Alice gave me your letter. My thoughts are interrupted when I see Alice working her way through the thinning herd of kids heading toward lockers and classrooms. She's tiny, but her short, blue hair makes it easier to find her in a crowd. She's pulling you by the hand, but you're trailing behind. Alice sees me and waves, jerking you toward her, making you stumble forward. You stand up straight, push wavy brown hair out of your face, and scowl at her. You say something I can't hear, but Alice gestures toward me, and you face me head on.

Jesus Christ.

You're so pretty.

I couldn't have even imagined a face like yours. You've got these big, brown eyes—Bambi eyes—that I think could hypnotize me. A blush creeps over your high cheekbones, and your pink lips are pressed together in a nervous line. You blink and bite your bottom lip, and I think thoughts that I really shouldn't in this situation.

Alice urges you forward but falls back to give us a minute. I'm eternally grateful.

"Bella." Your name matches the rest of you. Sweet and soft, just like I thought before. "I'm so sorry for what happened. I had no idea what was going on."

I pause, but you just blink at me.

"I didn't show her your note. She just—"

"Is she your girlfriend?" you ask, straightforward, just like your written words. They're the first ones you actually say to me. Your voice is sweet, too.

"We're through."

The blush on your cheeks spreads. "Not because of me…"

"No, no. Not…not exactly." I can't stand here and lie to you when you've shown me pieces of yourself that maybe no one else gets to see. "I mean, it's been over for a while now. Just neither one of us wanted to admit it."

"But she felt the need to call me and tell me off?"

"Ah, hell." I run a hand through my untamable hair. I'm suddenly sorry I didn't comb it before meeting you, which is also stupid because I rarely do it, and why am I thinking about it at a time like this? There's no point. My nervous habit of running my hand through it keeps it on end pretty much constantly. But…you probably already know that. You know a lot about me, and somehow, it's not even creepy. "She just found the letter. You, uh, put your number. At the bottom."

"I could hear you in the background." Not once do you look away. Your Bambi eyes hold mine, daring me to break the connection. You're as strong as I thought you might be.

"I was…messed up. I passed out." I'm hyperaware of my voice and the fact that I'm just stating facts over and over again. "She was talking to you when I woke up, and I got pissed and told her to leave. I can't tell you how sorry I am." I take a deep breath and hike my bookbag up higher on my shoulder, then take the folded square of paper from my pocket, holding it up like you won't know what I'm talking about without the visual. "Look. I… Your letter meant—_means_ a lot to me."

As I gather my thoughts, you keep quiet and stare up at me, even though you have every right to be angry and hurl insults. I know in that moment that I'd never be able to deny you anything. It gives me the boost I need.

"It was so… It was like you put a lot of thought into it. No one's ever said those things to me before." I want to tell you that I feel like I get a glimpse of your very soul every time I read it, but that will sound even stupider out loud than it sounds in my head.

Finally, you speak, rescuing me from my self-loathing. "No one's ever said what, exactly?" You're challenging me. You want to know if I really read it. If only you knew that I pretty much have it memorized.

"I just…don't think anybody's ever…figured it out. Figured _me_ out." I've never been tongue-tied when it comes to girls, but I find myself tripping over my words without a clue. "It's like…it's like you see me. The _real_ me. And I didn't—_don't_ even know you."

Your expression doesn't change. Your eyes never leave mine. Instead, you shrug and raise your eyebrows. "I know. That was the point."

Your frank nature is disarming. It's one of the things I love about your letter—the candid, straightforward words. Finding out that you're the same in person makes you all the more attractive. I jump when the warning bell for first period rings, and the corners of your mouth turn up the tiniest bit.

"Look," you say, fidgeting with the straps of your bookbag. "It's stupid. The letter. Just…pretend you never got it, okay?" You snatch it from my hand, and I kick into panic mode.

"No! Don't—"

"Tell your girlfriend I'm sorry."

"She's not—"

"I'm sorry for the trouble I caused. I've got to get to class." You start to move away, walking backward for a few seconds, only breaking eye contact when you turn to go.

When you're gone, I blow out a long breath and sink against the wall. The cold dampness of the brick bleeds through my flannel, but it doesn't bother me as much as the fact that you just walked away from me. With my letter. Forget it? Not likely. There hasn't been a moment when I haven't thought about your words since I first read them. And now they're gone.

I consider just going back to my car and skipping class. Calculus. I have a feeling I won't be able to concentrate. I'll only be thinking about your letter. Your words. The ones I'm glad I have in my head. Because any physical evidence that they exist is now gone.


	4. Chapter 4

_March 7, 1996_

"She cried," Alice says matter-of-factly as we're quizzing each other for our German test.

We've known each other almost our whole lives. Our parents have been friends since we were both toddlers. There was a period of time during middle school where we only tolerated each other for their sake, but we've grown closer over the last few years.

Part of me wants to deny that I know she's talking about you, but she knows better. "Jesus, Alice. You have to bring that up now?

"When did you want me to bring it up?"

"Maybe never," I mumble into a placemat.

"_Wie sagt man_ 'I am a total asshat' _auf Deutsch_?"

"Alice."

"What? You need me to translate it for you?"

I bang my open palm on the table. "How am I an asshat?" I'm trying not to shout, not to take my frustration out on her. "Please tell me how any of this is my fault."

She raises an eyebrow but keeps her mouth shut. It's a rhetorical question anyway.

"Bella wrote the note. You gave it to me. Tanya found it. _Tanya_ called her. How is that my fault? Shit, Alice, I apologized. What more do you want?"

Alice shrugs and picks up her pen to doodle in my notebook. "You could've told her you had a girlfriend. I didn't know you and Tanya were that big of a big deal. You're so private about that shit. If I'd known, I would've told her when she started asking about you. You could've called her or at least sent her a note through me."

Only one part of her accusation sticks out. "Wait…when did she start asking about me?"

"Does it matter?"

I sigh and look down at my notebook, where Alice has scrawled a word in tiny print across the top of my page of notes.

_Arschloch._ Asshole.

Instead of being angry, I'm amused. From the corner of my eye, I see Alice smiling triumphantly. I bite back a grin and shake my head. But my curiosity gets the best of me.

"When did she cry?" I ask softly, pretending to be nonchalant as I shut my German book and crack open my calculus notes.

"When Tanya called. Bella called me after, all upset. She was really hurt."

I scrub a hand over my face. I didn't know. I didn't know that had hurt you so badly.

"And then again today. After this morning. Edward, she started crying as soon as she turned the corner of the science building. We skipped bio and sat in my car for an hour."

This is a complete surprise. I want to defend myself, to tell her that you were the one who walked away.

Alice sits back in her chair, biting her lip and tapping a pen rapidly against the cover of her textbook. "Wanna go get blazed?"

I laugh, but nothing's funny. "As much as I'd like to, I can't." I have to meet my dad in an hour at the assisted living place across town. My volunteer work there started out as punishment, but…I like it.

"So what are you gonna do?"

"Hell, I don't know."

"You like her."

It's a statement, not a question. I don't deny it, but I can't confirm it either. I can't say that I like you. I don't know you. But I like the idea of you. And _Christ_, you're pretty.

"Call her."

"Isn't that what started this mess in the first place?"

"Not technically. _You_ didn't call her last night," she points out.

"I don't know."

Alice rolls her eyes and starts shoving books and papers into her bookbag. She stands and hoists it onto her back. "Just remember what I said. You can't play with her. She's not like Tanya. Or anyone else you've dated."

"No one's playing anything, Alice," I say through gritted teeth.

She ruffles my hair and squeezes one arm around my shoulders. She's got a strong grip for such a tiny person. "See you tomorrow. Tell Esme I'm stealing some crack."

I hear her rustling around in the kitchen for my mom's famous triple chocolate cookies before the front door opens and closes, and then the house is quiet again.

I slam my calculus book shut and slouch down in my chair. There's no way I'm getting anything done now.

* * *

**A/N: I know this one's short, but chapter five will be posted in just a little bit. Thanks so much for the faves and reviews. And thanks to RachelFish, who's, like, my favorite. ;)**


	5. Chapter 5

_March 8, 1996_

Even though I can't recall every detail about your face in my mind—God knows I tried last night—I recognize it as soon as I see you at school the next day. We have the same lunch period, which is convenient, because otherwise, I'd have no idea how to run into you. I tell my friend Jasper that I have to meet Alice to work on a project, which I realize is a bad idea. He likes her. He's never come out and said it, but it's pretty obvious. I'm afraid he'll try to tag along, but he says he's meeting Mike Newton behind the bathrooms at the football field. Newton's got connections. He gets the best weed.

When he's gone and I'm sure none of my other friends have seen me, I find you sitting on the raised sidewalk with a few other girls. You're as pretty as I remembered. Your friends look up when my shadow falls over your group, but you stare at my shoes. You must've seen me coming. Now I do feel like the asshat Alice accused me of being.

"Bella?" I pause until you look up at me. When your Bambi eyes meet mine, my brain scrambles, and it takes me a second to remember how to speak. "Can we talk?"

Your blonde friend in the cheerleading uniform elbows you in the side, and you purse your lips and nod. I hold out a hand to help you up, but you stand without taking it. _Ouch. _You set your bottle of lemonade down on the ground next to your backpack. I get the message. You don't expect to be gone long.

I lead you to a spot just far enough away to be out of earshot before I turn to face you. You're regarding me with the same wary expression as yesterday, and I recognize it now for what it is. Carefully emotionless.

"Uh, hey," I say lamely.

The faintest hint of amusement flickers in your eyes. "Hi."

"I, uh, just…I just wanted to apologize again for what happened the other night."

"You already apologized. And you didn't do anything wrong."

"I sort of did, though."

"_No_, you didn't."

"By proxy."

"It's not the same thing."

"Are you arguing with me about whether or not I owe you an apology?" Despite my nervous, semi-brooding mood, I'm amused.

You crack a small smile but bite your lip when you realize it. "Sorry."

"If I'm not allowed to apologize, you're definitely not."

You shrug and look down. I follow your gaze and watch you try to rub a scuff mark off the toe of your Converse with your other shoe. It makes another smudge.

"Bella?"

"Huh?"

"Look at me?"

Raising your head only halfway, you glance up at me from under long lashes. You're beautiful.

"I know this sort of got off on the wrong foot, but…I'd like to get to know you better. If you want that, I mean."

You lift your chin fully now and draw your eyebrows together. "I don't think your girlfriend would appreciate that."

"She's not my girlfriend."

"That's not what she said."

"I mean anymore. She's not my girlfriend _anymore_. I ended it last night. And no, not because of you." That sounds harsher than it did in my head. "I mean it's partially because of what she did, but it was just the last straw in a long line of many…straws."

"Is that a mixed metaphor?"

"I'm not sure."

"Because there's the straw that broke the camel's back, which must be the same thing as the last straw. But can you have a long line of—"

"Don't change the subject."

You sigh. "Look, Edward. Yes, I like you. As much as you _can_ like someone you don't actually know. But I'm afraid I might've made a mistake."

My heart thuds, because that couldn't be further from the truth. I'm nervous that you're about to bolt. "It's not a mistake. You have no idea what kind of impact your letter has had on me." I run a hand through my hair, anxious about exposing myself like I'm about to. "I think about it all the time. I've read it and reread it at least twenty times."

Your wide, innocent eyes get wider. "You have?"

"I think I told you that."

"You said no one's ever said things to you like that before and that it meant a lot to you."

"I keep it with me. I mean I did before you took it."

You pull the folded square from your back pocket, and I'm both surprised and incredibly relieved. "I was going to burn it."

I reach my hand out. "Please don't do that."

"Why not?"

"I told you why not. Why would you burn it?"

"Because I was embarrassed!" Your shouted words eat away the shred of pride I was clinging to.

"I'm sorry, Bella. I'm so sorry."

"I told you not to say that."

"Please let me. And please don't be embarrassed. The fact is that it's…like my favorite thing in the world right now."

You stare at me in this really disarming way, something like surprise crossed with amusement.

"Really?"

"Yes. Can I have it back?"

Your eyes dart from me to the letter a few times before you shrug and hold it out to me. Our fingers brush when I take it from you, and I swear my nerves buzz where we touched. Your face turns pink. You're a blusher.

I like it.

I stuff the note into my own pocket. "So. Can we talk?"

"We are talking."

A frustrated sigh escapes me. "Not just now. Can we…like, get to know each other?"

"I don't know. Is it going to be complicated? This Tanya…is she going to be a problem?"

"Tanya's…" I trail off. Even though she's never acted crazy before, I evidently can't guarantee anything. "She was upset when I broke up with her, but she doesn't usually do crazy shit."

I can see you wavering. After you reached out to me and started all of this, I never thought I'd have to convince you to let me be your friend. But I can't blame you. I managed to hurt you without even knowing who you were.

"Okay."

Every muscle I didn't realize was tensed relaxes. For a second, I consider whether my obsession is unhealthy, but I brush the thought off because I don't actually care.

The bell signaling the end of lunch rings, and my shoulders sag. All I want is to keep talking to you. I want to hear you say words like the ones you wrote.

"Walk me home after school," you say. It's not a question. "You don't live far from me."

I'm glad I chose to take advantage of the sunny weather and walk to school today. Something tells me you already know that. "Have you been stalking me?" The smile I show you is wry, sarcastic. "Maybe I should rethink this whole friend thing."

"You take the concrete stairs when you come up from the parking lot," you say. "When you walk to school, you climb up that grassy hill on the other side of the gym."

I shake my head. Your observations probably border on creepy. But you're so plain about it that I can't find it in me to mind.

"Alice told me."

I wonder just how many things Alice has told you about me, how much of it was unsolicited…and just what I'm about to get myself into. The funny thing is I don't even care. The more I talk to you, the more I want to know about you.

I don't tell you that. Instead of telling you how fucking much I _do_ want to walk you home, how fucking much I want to keep talking to you, I say, "Yeah, okay. I'd like that."


	6. Chapter 6

_March 8, 1996_

Your house is five blocks east of mine. I do all the listening during that walk. I want to know everything. Your mom's a teacher. Your dad's a cop. (That worries me somewhat.) You like to eat Pixie Stix on your walk home from school. You love candy, but you don't drink soda. You're seventeen and a senior like me. You'll be eighteen in September, when you hope to start classes at the University of Washington. You don't want to stray too far. After living in Phoenix for a few years, you prefer the Pacific Northwest. Things are greener here, you say. More interesting. I like hearing you talk about yourself.

I like knowing you.

Our walk home is slow, meandering. I want to keep talking to you. I'm just about to ask you what your favorite movie is when you interrupt.

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Everything. I mean, I know a few things. But I want to know more. I want _you_ to tell me."

I shrug. "There's not much to tell."

"There's plenty. Do you want to go to college, for starts?"

I'm definitely going to college. "I want to be an engineer."

You laugh. "See what I mean? I never would've expected that you'd want to be an engineer."

"No?"

"Nope."

I keep expecting you to elaborate, but you don't. "Are you going to tell me why not?" I ask.

"Well, you hang out with these slacker guys, these stoners who come to class about two-thirds of the time and don't do much besides crack jokes when they actually do show up."

Yeah, that pretty accurately describes most of my friends.

"And while I knew you weren't the same, I didn't know you had such…lofty aspirations."

My laugh is loud and deep and makes a couple of birds bolt out from a bush nearby. "Lofty aspirations?"

"I have this Word of the Day calendar," you explain. "It's more like a thesaurus. Like, 'Instead of saying this, say this.'"

I chuckle and shake my head slightly. "Of course you do."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

My face flames when I realize that I just voiced what should have been an internal thought. "You just have a way of saying things. I like it. It sets you apart."

When you come to a full stop in the middle of the sidewalk, I'm afraid I've said something wrong. "What if I don't want to be set apart?"

Words from your letter come rushing back to me. _I feel invisible sometimes, partly due to my own design and partly because I'm so incredibly...unremarkable._ Sometimes I forget how similar we are on the inside. You _want_ to disappear into a crowd.

"It sets you apart for _me_," I explain. "From other people in my life."

"Am I in your life?"

_Jesus, Bella._ "I mean…I'd like it if you were."

I watch you gnaw on the inside of your lip before you answer. "I'd like that, too."

I flash you my winningest smile and start to walk again, but you don't budge from your spot on the sidewalk. "You okay?" I ask, worried that I've offended you somehow.

"This is me." You nod your head toward the big white house on the other side of a neatly mown lawn. There's a front porch with rocking chairs. There's a swing hanging from ropes on a big tree in the front yard. There are flowers in shades of pink and white in the flower boxes under every window. My eyes dart back to you and scan you from head to toe. Long, brown hair hanging in loose, slightly messy waves. Black Converse hi-tops. Black dress. This house is decidedly unlike anything I would've imagined for you. And there we go. Right back to where we started. _Similitude_. Because I'm pretty sure if you saw my house, you'd be having the same thoughts I am right now.

"Thanks for walking me home," you say, unlatching the short gate in the picket fence.

"My pleasure. Can—uh, can I pick you up before school tomorrow?" I'm not done talking to you. Seeing where you live just sparked a million more questions in my head.

You nod slowly. "Yeah. Okay."

"Okay. Well, see you in the morning?"

"See you." You turn and make your way across a stone path, up the front porch steps, but I'm rooted to my spot on the sidewalk. There are words haunting me from your letter.

"Hey, Bella?"

Hand on the doorknob, you turn back to look at me once more. "Yeah?"

"You're not unremarkable." Your brow furrows. You probably don't remember. I pull your letter from my back pocket and hold it up, grinning. "Not even close."


	7. Chapter 7

_March 21, 1996_

Two weeks later, I decide that you're my most favorite person in the world. I was right. You're pretty much perfect. Except you like Oasis and hate pizza and watch _Friends_. I'm willing to overlook those things because, well, you're you. Our time together so far has been limited to our shared lunch period, trips to and from school, and occasional phone calls. Calling your house makes me nervous, though. Your dad always sounds suspicious when he answers the phone.

Lately, I like walking to and from school rather than driving. It gives me more time with you.

"Can I try it?" you ask, nodding to my skateboard on the walk to school one morning.

"Uh, okay," I say stupidly. "Have you ever ridden one before?"

You shake your head but reach for it anyway. Instead of showing you what to do, I watch as I walk alongside you, giving you hints, because I know you like figuring things out for yourself. Seeing you on my board turns me on in an embarrassing and unexplainable way. When you wobble and nearly fall forward, it scares the living shit out of me. You just giggle and grab my hand tight.

"Jesus, Bella," I mutter and bend down to grab the board. You start to object, but I cut you off. "If you fell and got hurt, it'd kill me."

You blink up at me me with this surprised look, but then you smile and say, "That's hyperbole."

"Someone's been paying attention in English class." I'm not worried by your sort-of change of subject. You'll come around on your own terms.

"You say that a lot. _Jesus, Bella_," you mimic, lowering your voice in a ridiculous imitation of mine.

When I think about it, I guess I do say it a lot. "I guess you just amaze me on a daily basis." It comes out like sarcasm, but it's sort of the truth. Instead of answering, you just grin back at me.

I don't get to walk you home this afternoon because you're going out of town for a long weekend with your parents. They're picking you up right after lunch, and you'll be gone for three days, and I'm sort of sad about that.

"Hey," you say, bumping me with your shoulder. "I'm gonna miss you this weekend."

Sometimes I wonder how you see through me so easily. But this time, it gives me an excuse to tell you. "Yeah, me too. I like…talking to you and stuff."

"Yeah," you agree. "Me too."

I sigh like a girl on the inside.

* * *

_March 23, 1996_

"What's with this Bella chick?" Jasper asks Saturday afternoon. We're sitting on the floor of my bedroom, antsy for my parents to leave so we can spark up.

"Huh?" I was only half-listening to whatever he was yammering on about, distracted by thoughts of you.

"Bella? I was talking to Alice because, you know, you've been AWOL at lunch for the past week. She told me you were off with her somewhere. Gettin' lucky behind the bleachers?" He cracks up at his own lameness.

"Fuck off," I mumble, but he's one of my best friends, so I guess I sort of do owe him an explanation. "We eat down by the English building. We just…talk. I dunno."

"So are you going out or whatever?"

I shrug, and since I don't really know how to answer that question, I'm relieved when my mom comes in with a plate of her famous cookies. The ones Alice calls crack. I love when Mom goes all Suzy Homemaker. She just got some promotion at the law firm where she works, so she's not home for more than a handful of hours at a time. Her firm just won a big case or something, so she's taken a few days off. The baked goods have been delivered to my room in a steady stream. There's a stay-at-home-mom in there somewhere, but she tried that whole thing. Didn't work out.

My dad's an E.R. doc, so his work isn't exactly predictable either. He tries to keep a fixed schedule, but it doesn't always work out. And the hours are always different. I appreciate it. I really do. We live in this nice house with nice things, and I've never wanted for anything. But as much as most would deny it, sometimes a kid just wants his family around.

While I wouldn't say it's _rare_ for both of my parents to be home at the same time, it's not exactly a common occurrence.

"Who's going out or whatever?" Mom asks, mocking Jasper's drawl. He moved to Seattle from Texas just a few years ago and hasn't dropped the hint of an accent he came with.

I glare at Jasper, but he's too busy (molesting) the plate of cookies to notice. "No one."

"Oh, come on. Indulge me," she says. "Let your poor old mom live vicariously."

"You're not old, Mrs. Cullen," Jasper says around a mouthful of chocolate.

"_Anyway_," I say. "You wouldn't know her."

Despite my best attempt to derail this conversation, my mom grabs a cookie for herself and sits down in my desk chair. "So not Tanya, then."

I drop my head into my hand and groan.

"Keep up, girlfriend," Jasper teases her. "E kicked Tanya to the curb weeks ago." He snaps his fingers in a Z shape like he's on _Maury Povich_ or some shit.

"Christ, Jasper," I say under my breath.

"Nah, it's just Jasper," he says, stuffing another cookie into his big mouth. "Plus, ever heard of irony?"

"Well, if you don't want to talk about it, I won't force you." Mom stands and bends down to kiss me on top of my head. "Just…be careful. You know."

Heat floods my face, but I nod once to placate her.


	8. Chapter 8

_March 26, 1996_

"We're the same, you and me," you say as I walk you home Tuesday. It felt good to have you back at school today. Despite the fact that my crew seemed oddly happy to have me back, I missed our lunchtime chats yesterday and Friday.

I snort. "Yeah, sure."

"No, I mean it. Like…people assume something about you because you want them to. You're like…like…an Airhead."

"I'm an airhead?" I repeat incredulously.

"Yeah. I mean with a capital A. Like the candy. The sour kind."

"Oh." I laugh, but I fail to see the sense in your comparison. "How am I like an Airhead?"

"Well, you say you want to blend in. You want people to think you're like your friends. That's the sour part. But if you savor the Airhead, if you suck on it long enough, it's sweet. It's the same with you."

I almost choke on my gum. A sly look out of the corner of your eye says you're not even sorry for the double entendre. Are you trying to kill me? "I don't think we're the same, then."

"Well, it's sort of the same in that we're opposites."

"Isn't that an oxymoron?" I say with a chuckle.

"What I mean is that people regard me as this shy, benign little girl. I'm not."

"No, you're not." Never would I ever put that label on you. You're strong, funny, independent, sarcastic.

"But I guess I seem that way if you don't know me well. So the opposite of an Airhead. Sweet, _then_ sour."

"I think you're an Atomic Fireball."

You pause in your steps and cock your head to the side. Damn it, you're cute.

"The kind with layers. The ones that are spicy at first, then sweet, then spicy again. That's what I think."

With your head still cocked to the side, you stand on your tiptoes and grab the front of my favorite flannel shirt. Before I know what's happening, you plant a kiss right on my lips. You kissed me. _You _kissed _me_. You're spicy, all right. But your kisses are sweet.

"Yeah," I murmur when you let go and take a step back. "Atomic Fireball."


	9. Chapter 9

_March 28, 1996_

Instead of chancing a run-in with our parents and having to answer questions, we sometimes sit on the curb together near the oak tree that serves as a landmark between our houses. It's just far away enough that we feel comfortable talking and holding hands, maybe even stealing a kiss every now and then.

"Bite?" I ask, holding my strawberry Otter Pop out to you. I'd like to see your lips red. I'd like to see your lips on…never mind.

"No thanks," you say with a tight smile.

"You don't like red?"

"It's not that. I—" The sigh passing through your lips makes me want to kiss you. "It's silly."

I nudge you with my shoulder. "I'm sure it's not."

"Fine," you mumble, twisting the ends of your long hair self-consciously. "I was eating one of those when…that phone call."

I stop with the popsicle halfway to my mouth and stare at you, shaking my head. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault."

"But it is."

You put a hand on my thigh, and I think ugly thoughts to keep my body from reacting. "It's not." Your shrug tells me the topic is closed for discussion.

I finish my melting popsicle quickly and lean back on the curb with my legs stretched out in front of me. It's an unusually warm night, and neither of us wants to leave this spot on the sidewalk.

"Are you going to ask me out?" The way you ask me is so matter-of-fact. I should be used to this. But I'm not sure if I ever will be.

I chuckle quietly. "I was going to, but now…"

You shove me so hard that I have to throw a hand out to catch myself from rolling into the gutter. I laugh harder, but when I'm righted again, I catch the semi-hurt look in your eyes. Sometimes I forget that your straightforward nature leaves you unappreciative of sarcasm. I clear my throat and push your long hair behind your ear, letting my hand linger on your cheek. Your skin feels warm and soft against my still icy fingertips. "Bella?"

"What?" you say flatly.

"It would make me so incredibly happy if you'd let me take you out sometime."

You fight a smile at first, but your eyes are full of satisfaction when they meet mine. "Yeah, okay."


	10. Chapter 10

_March 30, 1996_

"Wonderwall" is playing on the crappy radio in my beater of a car as we drive into the city for dinner. I'm sick of this song, but hearing you sing along makes me rethink my opinion. Not many things make you feel self-conscious, but your voice is so soft that I think this might be one of those things. I reach over and twine my fingers with yours, letting our hands rest on the gear shift. We don't let go until we have to get out of the car to go into the restaurant. Before I can make my way around to open your door, you're already out and reaching for my hand again.

Inside the restaurant, we're led to a little table by a window that looks out over the city. You said you've never tried sushi. I like that I'm introducing you to something new. We order a variety, because I'm not sure if you'll like the raw stuff.

I watch you chew a piece of salmon, but your expression doesn't give anything away. You swallow and go for a sip of water, then look down at the rest of the fish on the plate between us.

"Verdict?" I prompt.

Without answering, you poke at a tuna roll with a chopstick before picking it up and popping it into your mouth. Your chewing is deliberate, your expression thoughtful. This time you smile when you swallow. "I like it."

"Knew you would," I say smugly.

You poke my shin with the toe of your shoe under the table. "What are we doing after this, know-it-all?"

"Thought we'd wing it," I say after I swallow my California roll.

"If my five-year-old self heard me saying these words, she'd disown me, but _God_, seaweed salad is delicious."

"Good, right?"

You close your eyes and sigh, and I can't help staring at you. Your pink lips. The dimple in your left cheek. The tiny scar on your chin. Your long eyelashes. I catalog them all and store them away for later.

"How'd you get this?" I reach out and brush the tip of my thumb across the little scar.

"Um." A flush spreads over your cheeks, making me grin. "I got into a fight with some asphalt."

"Asphalt. What an asshole."

"Yeah. That sounds much cooler than the actual story, right?"

"That depends."

"Long story short, don't ever put me in a pair of rollerblades."

My laugh is loud and deep and real. "I don't think you have to worry about that."

In all honesty, I haven't gone on many official dates, but this one already trumps the others. First-date small talk is crippling. With you, I don't have to worry about it. Not just because I already know you, but because I know I could talk to you for hours and never run out of things to say. There's no awkwardness, no uncomfortable silence, no gap in conversation. Everything with you feels so natural. I feel like I know you better than I know anyone else. I know the things you want. I know the things you hate. I know the things you love.

And I suddenly know exactly what I want to do after dinner.

* * *

"A candy store?" You laugh when we walk through the door, but your eyes are all lit up. I wanted to show you that I listen. That I pay attention. I know you.

"I didn't bring you flowers, so how about the biggest bouquet of Pixie Stix money can buy?"

A kiss on the cheek is my reward. "You're sweet. Pun not intended."

"Am I?"

You nod and drag me to the bin of Sour Patch Kids. "You know you are."

I've never known anyone that could spend hours in a candy store, but I think you probably could. Twenty minutes later, after debating the merits of Swedish Fish versus gummy sharks, you're satisfied with five small bags of your favorites. Pixie Stix, of course. Gummy bears, because you decided they're better than their oceanic counterparts. M&amp;Ms (after you sorted them meticulously, avoiding the blue ones at all costs). Sour Patch Kids. Chocolate-covered espresso beans. I filled my own bag with Goobers and Raisinets, which you turned your nose up at, making me laugh.

"Thanks, Edward," you say when we leave the store and go down to walk by the water. When you say my name, the shiver that goes through me has nothing to do with the slight chill in the spring night air. I watch you pop an espresso bean into your mouth, and I want to kiss those lips so badly, but you're more interested in your newly acquired prizes.

"You won't be able to sleep tonight." I chuckle. "All that sugar."

"I'll pace myself," you say. "I promise."

We walk slowly, hands joined, swinging the shopping bag full of sweets between us, and when you're done sampling them, I give in. Pulling you to me by the hand, I cage you between me and the railing that separates the sidewalk from the grassy area that slopes down to the bay. "Thank _you_," I murmur, ducking my head so my lips are close to yours.

"For what?" you breathe.

"Just…for being you. And for tonight." I grin, and my eyes dart back and forth between yours. "And for this." I close the distance between us and kiss you once, softly. I'll never get over the feel of your lips on mine. There's a lingering sugar taste on them, making your sweet kisses literal.

* * *

We have another hour before your curfew, so we go back to my house to hang out. It's weird, having you here in my bedroom. I feel a little exposed as you walk around exploring pieces of my life. Even though we've known each other for about a month now, I feel like I'm opening up a whole new part of myself to you. You trail a hand over the paperbacks on my bookshelf, the CDs and tapes propped beside my stereo. You hum and move to the corner of the room, where my acoustic guitar sits on a stand. You touch that, too, plucking one of the strings and turning to grin at me.

"You play?"

I shrug. "Not well."

"Will you play something for me?"

My face gets hot. "Uh. Not now."

"Please?"

"Bella, I don't think you understand how truly awful I am."

"Resistance is futile. You'll eventually play for me."

"Yeah, okay. I'll go with eventually."

You smirk like you've won and resume your tactile exploration, touching random items on my desk. "Ooh, can I have one?" you ask, picking up the Altoids tin I forgot was there.

"Oh, wait—"

You burst into laughter when you pry the lid open and find a lack of mints. "Nice stash spot."

My face gets hot. I'm not sure how you feel about the tin's actual contents until you lift it to your nose and sniff. "How'd you get the minty smell out? Altoids are so…pungent."

"I didn't. Mike Newton did, I guess. When I need more, I trade it for a new one that's already loaded."

"Newton, huh? I hear he gets the best stuff."

"So you…smoke?" I don't know if I'll be surprised by either answer.

"I have. Not regularly or anything."

"You want to?"

"Hmm. Maybe not now. I don't want to lose my inhibition in the middle of your bedroom." You try to hide your smile by pursing your lips, but it doesn't work. "At least not yet."

"You're gonna kill me one day. You know?"

You shrug one shoulder and tilt your head to the side. "Edward, are we exclusive?"

I blow out a long breath, needing a second to gather myself since you just shattered my world. "Is that what you want?" You nod, and I hook my fingers into your front pockets and pull you close. "You want me? Just me?"

"Abso-fucking-lutely."

"Good. I want that, too."

And just like that, because you're you and you don't play around, we're a couple.

When I kiss you, you wind your arms around my neck and let me get carried away. I'm mildly aware that I'm crushing you against the wall, but you're not complaining, so neither am I. Your fingers twist together behind my neck, move to my hair, slide down my chest until you're gripping the sides of my shirt in your fists. Mine have journeyed in the opposite direction, moving from the small of your back to your hips, up your sides, finally settling on either side of your neck.

We end our kiss slowly, reluctantly, but my hands linger, thumbs grazing along your jawline. I touch my forehead to yours gently. "You and me, yeah?"

Your smile is soft and pretty, embodying everything you are. "Yeah."


	11. Chapter 11

_April 8, 1996_

You're not at school today. You called this morning to tell me not to pick you up. Sore throat, you said. At lunch, I take advantage of the solitude and arrange to meet Mike Newton down by the football field. My Altoids tin is empty.

"You fuck her yet?" he says when our deal is done.

"Shut up," I growl. It's not just because it's none of his damned business. I won't have guys talk about you like that.

Anyway, when—if—we do…have sex, it won't be like that. It won't be fucking. I won't say _making love_, because that shit's just corny and sounds like something uptight, old people do. I don't have a word for it, and I think it's because I know it'll be unlike anything I've ever experienced. Nothing I could even imagine. I've never…you've never…neither of us has ever…

I'm building it up in my head, and maybe it'll be a long time before we do it anyway, if we ever do, but I'm afraid my high expectations will jinx it, and I'll disappoint you. Just you, though. Because I'm pretty sure it will be the best thing that's ever happened to me.

Second best. The first best would be the day you said yes to me.

"Valid question, man," he shoots back. Sometimes I really hate Mike Newton. I don't think he even knows your name. He just thinks he can say whatever he wants because no one wants to cut ties with him. Newton doesn't really belong anywhere. It's probably a good place to be, and I sort of envy that.

His friend, Emmett McCarty, tells him to shut up. "She's Rose's friend, man. Don't talk about her like that." I learned recently that Rose is the blonde cheerleader you were sitting with the second time we ever talked. That's another thing I love about you. You don't buy into the whole high school social stratification thing. You're the opposite of Newton. The exception to the rules. You fit…everywhere.

"Psh," Newton scoffs. "Both of you are pussy whipped."

"Fuck off, Newton," Emmett says, shoving him in a way that could be playful or serious. Since he's a big guy, he can get away with shit like that. I like Emmett, even though he's the epitome of everything I left behind when I entered high school. He's worshipped as the starting quarterback of our school's football team and takes advantage of all the perks that come with his status. But somehow, his "status" or whatever has never gone to his head. He's still a good guy. And apparently, he knows you. I didn't realize. The fact that he just stuck up for you is what makes him cool in my book.

I give him a small smile and nod, then walk off, stuffing my new Altoids tin into the smallest pocket of my backpack.

* * *

I want to call you after school, but you probably don't feel like talking on the phone with a sore throat. Since I had no reason to prolong the trip to school, and since it's drizzly outside today, I slept in a little and drove. On my way home, I war with myself over whether or not I should stop by your house, just to check in. At the last minute, I park at the curb in front and sit there with the engine turned off.

This is stupid. There's no reason my pulse should be racing and my palms sweaty. Eventually, I blow out a deep breath and force myself out of the car. I ring the doorbell and take a couple of steps backward, stuffing my hands into my pockets.

Aaaand there in the doorway is the thing I didn't know I was nervous about. Your mom. Or at least a lady who I assume is your mom. She looks a lot like you, but her eyes are blue and a different shape than your pretty Bambi eyes. Her hair is lighter, too. She grins like she knows exactly who I am. This is _not_ how I wanted to meet your parents.

"I'm under strict instructions not to let anyone in," she says with a wink.

"I'm—"

"I know who you are." She laughs and holds the door open wider. "Don't think I haven't peeked between the blinds to spy on you two."

"Oh, God. Mo_ther_."

The sound of your raspy voice draws my attention inside. The door opens right up into the living room, and there you are, lying back on a pile of pillows on the couch, looking small and cute and—admittedly—like you don't feel well at all.

Your mom laughs again. "Come in, Edward," she says pulling me inside the house by the elbow.

"Sorry, Mrs. Swan," I mumble, but I'm not sure what I'm apologizing for.

"Sorry, shmorry, and call me Renee." She shakes my hand and nudges me toward the sofa. "I'll leave you two alone. Don't let her talk too much."

Evidently, your mom's not a hoverer like mine probably would be. I'm thankful for that, and I'm beyond relieved that your dad's not home.

I step around an end table to sit on the edge of the couch, my hip touching yours.

"Don't get too close," you whisper. "Strep throat."

"I'll risk it." I grin and take your hand, kissing the backs of your fingers.

"Trust me, you don't want this."

"I'm pretty sure if I was going to get it, I'd have it by now. I seem to have this faint memory of having my tongue down your throat yesterday."

You snort and groan, then punch me lightly in the arm. I'm pretty sure you'd be blushing if you didn't already look feverish.

"Sorry," I say with a deep chuckle. I hesitate before trailing a finger down your neck. "You probably shouldn't be laughing, huh? I hate that you're sick. Do you need anything?"

"This is nice," you whisper, leaning into my touch and closing your eyes. "I really didn't want you to see me all gross and sick."

"You're still pretty to me."

"God, that's cheesy."

I shrug. "It's the truth."

"Edwarrrd," you whine.

"Whaaat?" I whine back.

You just shake your head and sigh.

"I'm gonna go, okay? Let you rest. I just wanted to check in."

"I'm sort of glad you did. Edward?"

I glance down at your hand that's resting above my knee. It looks good there. It _feels_ good there. "Hmm?"

"I really wish I could kiss you right now."

"Yeah? Me too." My laugh is quiet as I lay a hand on your hot cheek, rubbing my thumb over it softly. "You sure you don't need anything? Chicken soup? I can't cook worth a damn, but I can open a can of Campbell's like a pro. Sorry," I say when you laugh and groan again.

"I'm okay. Really. I'll be back at school like Thursday."

I nod. "I'll see you Thursday, then."

"I'll even be showered and dressed. Pants and everything, probably."

Raising an eyebrow, I glance down at the blanket covering your legs. "You're not wearing pants?"

You twist your mouth to the side, trying and failing to hide a sneaky smile. "I'll never tell."

"Jesus, Bella." I sigh and stand up, running a hand through my hair and trying to think about something else. "On that note, I've gotta go. Call me if you need anything."


	12. Chapter 12

_April 10, 1996_

I try my best to keep away, but I can't resist bringing you a pint of Ben &amp; Jerry's Wednesday evening. This time, Officer Dad _is_ home. But I've psyched myself up for this. He's not as scary as I made him out to be in my head. Then again, he's not wearing his uniform. If he was, it might be a different story.

"So," he says as soon as he opens the front door. "You're Edward."

_Gulp_. "Yeah—uh, yes sir. Edward. I'm…Edward."

His mustache twitches, and he leans against the door frame with his arms crossed.

"You must be, uh…you're Officer…uh, Deputy? Swan?" There's no way I could sound like more of an idiot.

"Relax, son." He does that thing you do, where you purse your lips to the side to hide a smile. If I thought you looked like your mom, it's nothing compared to how much you resemble your dad. That's…kinda creepy. "Mr. Swan's fine."

"Or Charlie," Renee says, peeking over his shoulder.

He shrugs her off. "Mr. Swan."

"Sorry, uh, Mr. Swan. I brought ice cream for Bella…if that's okay."

"I dunno. What flavor is it?"

"Daddy, stop."

He stumbles backward to reveal you hiding behind him, holding the back of his shirt in your fist. You look so much better today, standing there in striped pajama pants and a Hard Rock Cafe t-shirt.

"Sorry, Edward," you say, glancing at your dad, who's shaking his head and laughing quietly.

Finally, I relax and give in to a smile. "It's okay. I expected a lot worse."

"Let's go out on the porch, okay?

"You shouldn't be out in the night air, Bells," your dad says gruffly.

"I'll be fine," you argue. "My throat hardly hurts anymore, and we won't be long."

He looks doubtful but nods and closes the door behind us. Leading me over to the swing at the far end of the porch, you reach for the pint of ice cream.

"Cherry Garcia. Mmm. Thank you so much, Edward." You lean in to me and kiss my arm, right under my shoulder. " Want me to grab some spoons?"

I stretch my arm out and rest it behind you on the back of the porch swing. "Nah, I got it for you. Wouldn't want to catch your gross germs, anyway."

"Shut up," you mumble, bumping my arm with your shoulder.

Tucking your legs up under you, you angle your body toward me and stare until I'm slightly uncomfortable with the prolonged eye contact. Even if your eyes are beautiful.

"This thing…" You trail off and shake your head. I've never known you to be at a loss for words.

"You'll have to be more specific," I tease. "There are lots of _things_ in my life."

"This thing we have." You shrug. "It makes me happy."

You have no idea. "Bella," I say, tracing circles over your right knee with my fingers. "I am disarmed by you on a daily basis."

* * *

_April 13, 1996_

By the weekend, you feel much better. I'm grateful, because between you going out of town and getting sick, we haven't had a whole lot of alone time. Time where we can just talk and be _us_. Instead of going out to dinner tonight, we sit on my bedroom floor with Chinese takeout. We talk. We watch some sitcom you say you can't miss. We listen to music. We make out a little bit. It's perfect.

By the time I walk you downstairs so I can get you home before curfew, my parents are back from their own "date." It's something they do every other week since their schedules are usually so busy.

"So this is Bella," my dad says with a raised eyebrow. I'm sure we'll be talking later about why I had you up in my room without them at home. Luckily, it was purely innocent.

Well, except for that one time I pressed my boner up against your hip.

"That's me." You offer him your hand, and I'm proud of the way you take this impromptu meeting-of-the-parents so easily. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Cullen."

"You, too," he says. "I'd love to say we've heard a lot about you, but Edward doesn't tell us much." He winks at me, knowing full well that I don't tell them things because our schedules don't match very often.

Mom shoots me a wide smile, and I know why. Partially because she looks like she's had a few cocktails. Partially because you're very different from other girls I've dated.

"I'm very glad to meet you, Bella," she says, bypassing your outstretched hand and kissing your cheek. "I, on the other hand, _can_ say that I've heard a lot about you. From Alice." She gives me a triumphant glance and turns back to you. "She adores you, by the way."

_Mother of all that is holy_. There's no telling what Mom and Alice have been gossiping about. I scrub a hand over my face. "I've gotta get Bella home before eleven, so…"

"Oh, noooo," Mom croons. "Bella, you have to come back when we can talk more—"

"Okay," I interrupt before Bella can answer. "Five till eleven, Mom. Gotta get her home. Her dad's a cop. Many guns."

My dad smirks, and after a quick goodbye and a promise that you'll come for dinner next weekend, I steer you out the front door with my hand on your back.

"That's cute," you say when we're settled in my car. There's no time for a leisurely walk back, even though it's just a few blocks. "You're embarrassed by your parents."

"No, I'm not," I mutter.

"You _are_. They're adorable."

"If you say so."

The drive to your house takes just a few minutes, thank God. I wasn't kidding about the many guns and my fear of them. It's because of that fear that I pull the car over a few houses down from yours. So I can take advantage of the last minute we have before your curfew's up and kiss you good night. _Really_ kiss you. I can never get enough. Your lips are red and your hair's messy.

I love it.

I run my hand through it and kiss you once more on the forehead before you climb out of the car and jog up the sidewalk. My chest is achy and my skin is buzzing. And my heart is full.

* * *

**A/N: **Thank you for all the kind reviews. It seriously makes me feel so great that you guys like reading my words. And as always, thanks to RachelFish, who writes The Shift, which you should definitely be reading, because it's cute and hilarious and adorable, and I'm in love with Mase. ;)


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N**:_ Just a quick warning about...sexyish times in this chapter. I don't like spoiling, so I don't usually warn, but I told a couple of people I would. This chapter's also a good bit longer than the others, so enjoy. ;)_

* * *

_April 19, 1996_

Spring break goes by way too fast. The majority of our waking hours are spent together. We drive into the city for coffee dates and to find good bands playing all-ages shows (which turns out to be pretty damned difficult). We spend time outside if the weather's good, and I try to teach you skateboard tricks. We laze around your house or mine, watching TV…talking…reading…making out. If it were up to me, we'd be at my place all the time. But since your mom's a teacher, she's off this week. Even though you say she's spent the entire break with her nose buried in romance novels, I don't want her getting suspicious. So we spend time with her, too. It doesn't bother me much.

On Friday, though, we take advantage of my empty house one last time and go upstairs with a movie.

Having you in my room is one thing. Seeing you on my bed? Whole other level. It's almost too much to think about without getting extremely worked up. When you saw the massive pile of laundry on my bean bag and desk chair, you didn't even hesitate to make a move for my bed. I'm glad you feel comfortable enough to do that, but Jesus. The sight of it…

You kicked off your shoes as soon as we stepped inside the door, as usual. It's one of your little quirks I've learned in my quest to know everything about you. I think it's cute that you hate shoes. But I'm also a fan of those tall Doc Marten boots you started wearing only recently. It's a good thing you didn't wear them today. Then I'd _really_ be in trouble.

Just after that thought crosses my mind, though, you lie back on the bed with your head on my pillow. I can't wait to sleep on that pillow tonight. I bet it'll smell like you. When you bend your knees, your dress rides up a little and exposes the top of your thigh.

You'll be the death of me.

I flip on the stereo and turn to look at you, stressing over what to do next. I could come sit by you, but I'm not sure I trust myself. I could shove the laundry piles out of the way, but I don't want you to think I don't _want_ to be next to you. Never in my life have I been as neurotic as I am when I'm with you, over-analyzing everything. This is completely new to me, feeling nervous and unsure about every step I make.

You make the decision for me and pat the bed beside you, grinning and looking at me with those sparkling, innocent eyes. I blow out an audible breath and figure what the hell. I'm sure I can keep myself in check if we just…talk. And don't touch. Like…at all. You've got other plans, though. As soon as I lie back, you roll to your side and scoot up against me, laying your head on my chest. At first, I panic. _What the fuck do I do with my hands? I know what I'd normally do with my hands, but…_

Again, you take the lead and grab my right hand with your left. The relief I feel at this ridiculously small thing relaxes me, and I spread my other hand out over your back. You sigh and inch your fingers up under the hem of my shirt, drawing tiny, invisible patterns just above the waistband of my boxers. I try really hard to keep my dick from tenting my jeans in an embarrassing way, but you're making it really hard on me. Pun not intended, but appropriate nonetheless. I try to think of something—anything—to talk about to keep my mind out of the gutter.

"Alice told me about your thing," I blurt.

You tilt your head so you can see my face. Yours looks confused. "My thing?"

"Yeah. You know…your thing for me? That you'd liked me a long time before you wrote that letter."

"Easy there," you reply, raising one eyebrow and patting my chest. "I didn't even know you."

"That's not what your let-ter said." I sing-song that shit, because it's fun to tease you.

You huff, but I know from experience that you give as good as you get. It's all in good fun. "My letter," you say, pinching my side, "was a…heat of the moment thing."

"Heat of the moment, huh?"

"Well, not literally." You bury your face in my shirt. "I was just feeling especially sullen when I wrote it."

Your…innocence, for lack of a better word, is endearing and new. Refreshing. I squeeze you gently, hoping you'll look at me. "Hey," I say softly. "Don't be shy."

"It's embarrassing. I was crazy for you, and you didn't even know I existed."

"Are you still?"

"Well, yeah." You hide your face again. "Obviously."

"That's good," I murmur into your hair and then tilt your face up so you'll look at me. "I'm pretty crazy for you, too."

The pink tinge that washes over your cheeks makes me smile, and I lean down to kiss your warm skin. You turn your head at the last second and kiss me on the lips, just a soft brush at first. But sweet kisses grow into something much less innocent.

You scrape your teeth across my bottom lip, and I push my tongue into your mouth, kissing you like my life depends on it. Your hand makes its way farther up my shirt, nails scratching lightly over my skin, making me shiver. You hitch your leg up over mine, and this time I know exactly where I want my hands to go. One goes to your waist, holding you right where I want you. The other smooths up your thigh to grip your hip and then moves to your butt, pressing you tightly against me. You moan a little when you feel how hard I am. Then, suddenly, you're on your back as I hover over you. I don't know if you rolled over and brought me with you or if I pushed you there myself, but it seems to be what you want, so I go with it. You wrap your legs around mine, urging me down. I let go, gradually and tentatively letting you feel more of my weight.

My heart's racing and my skin's hot and parts of me are throbbing and I feel like I'm ready to explode, but there's no way I'm rushing you on this. I want so badly to touch you. To make you feel good. I don't even know if that's on the table. We've never moved past the making-out part.

I move my hand up your leg and run my thumb over the soft crease where the top of your thigh meets…the rest of you. You shiver underneath me and bite my neck. God, that feels good. I want to make _you_ feel good.

"Has anyone ever…touched you before?" My question is hesitant, and I'm almost sorry I asked. One, I don't want the image of some other guy with his hands on you floating around in my head, and two, I'm not sure how you'll take it.

But you take it in stride. Your cheeks flush again, and you break eye contact, something you never do. There's my answer. A shake of your head confirms it.

"So have you ever…you know…?"

"I've had an orgasm," you say bluntly, taking me by surprise. "Just never with anybody else."

The thought of you touching yourself—the picture in my mind of you making yourself come under the covers late at night—makes me harder than I ever thought was possible. I want to hear more about that, but I'm afraid that if I do, I'll spontaneously explode and make a mess in my jeans. So instead, I whisper, "Can I?"

You bring your lips to my ear and tilt your hips up against mine. "Please."

I swear you'll kill me one day.

I take it slow, needing you to be comfortable with this but also loving the build-up. You're impatient, wiggling against me, making me chuckle into your neck. I inch my thumb over to graze the fabric between your legs. It's damp. I might lose my mind. I hook one finger beneath the edge of your underwear and brush against slick skin. When you push up against my hand and gasp and grip my arm, it's all the encouragement I need. Together, we drag your panties down your legs, and you kick them away. Then my fingers are moving slowly, gliding over soft, wet heat. I watch your face while I explore. You gasp and squirm. I lean down to kiss your open mouth without losing the rhythm I'm trying to build steadily. I want you to feel good. I want you to feel safe. I want you to know that I love you.

It's clear to me in this moment, and I know it's not just the insane lust I'm feeling for you clouding my judgment. I do.

_I love you_.

Your eyes are half-open now, but they're focused on your hands as you undo the tiny buttons at the front of your dress and flick open the front clasp of your bra. Jesus Christ. I don't know if I can handle all of this at once. I'm afraid I won't know when to stop, and you won't tell me, and I'll go too far. You push the cups of your bra aside, and you're all but naked now. With your dress open, exposing all of you, I can see what I'm doing to you. I don't know where to look. My gaze jumps from your pink nipples to my hand between your thighs. I swallow hard and breathe out slowly, then meet your eyes. You're looking at me again, but when I lean down to kiss you, you tangle your fingers in my hair and urge me toward your perfect, perfect tits.

I have no problem with that.

Your nipples are hard against my lips, a contrast to the rest of your soft skin, and your chest rises with another gasp when I peek my tongue out and then take one into my mouth.

"Edward," you say so softly that I could have imagined it.

"Mm," I mumble.

"Can…c-can you…" You squirm under my touch again, making my fingers slip against flesh that's even wetter than it was a minute ago. "Inside?"

I raise my eyes to look at you, but yours are closed again. "Are you sure?"

You nod quickly.

"Look at me."

You do. I'm about to fall to pieces. "You're sure."

"I'm sure."

I slide just the tip of my finger inside you and then push in just a fraction of an inch deeper. Your eyebrows pull together, but your knees move farther apart. "Am I hurting you?"

"No. It's just…different."

"Tell me, okay?"

You nod again, and I take it slow, just a little at a time, letting you adjust to the feeling. I haven't touched a virgin before. I don't know what to expect. There's no magical "barrier" like I've heard about. I'm thankful for that. Soon, I'm all the way inside, and you're moving against my hand like you know exactly what to do. So I move slowly in and out while my thumb brushes over your clit, gradually building pressure and speed. Your chest is heaving. I think mine is, too. Somehow, I'm mesmerized by what I'm doing to you.

You don't tell me when you're close, but I can feel it. I feel your body tensing, shaking, winding tighter and tighter. I watch your face grow pinker and your lips part further. I hear your breathing pick up, coming in tiny gasps. You're so beautiful, and I wish you'd open your eyes and look at me, but you're shy again. This is a new kind of intimacy for you. I get it. I take pleasure in being able to ogle you with abandon as I press closer to you. The flush on your cheeks darkens and spreads down your neck, across your chest. And then you're trembling, back arching off the bed slightly, hips pushing against my hand as you squeeze my finger inside you. I cover your mouth with mine and swallow your soft whimper. I made you do that, and because it's you, it turns me on like it never has before. As your body relaxes, I slow my movements and press light kisses to your lips, your jaw, the side of your neck, your cheeks, your eyelids, and finally your forehead, lingering there for just a few seconds while you wind down.

God, you're beautiful.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N:** This is a continuation of the previous chapter. Also, there's a 99.9% chance that there won't be an update tomorrow. It's our home tournament for hurling, which lasts all day and is extremely fun and extremely exhausting in a good way. And then there's the after party, which is a whole different story. LOL. If you've never heard of hurling, search YouTube for hurling, and watch the video called "The Fastest Game on Grass." I love playing. It's a blast. Wish me luck! But don't say "break a leg," because it's going to be rainy and the grass and ball and hurleys will be slippery, and I've already broken a finger, so I'd rather not break a leg. ;) Sorry for the long note! On with the show...

* * *

_April 19, 1996_

* * *

I rest my forehead against your chest while you catch your breath, covertly wiping my hand on the leg of my jeans.

"Edward?"

"Yeah?"

"That was…"

I raise my head to look at you, finding a tiny smile on your lips. "Good?"

"Yeah."

I kiss your smile, and you turn to your side to face me. You palm me over my jeans, but I jerk my hips back.

"I wouldn't." I close my eyes against my slight embarrassment over how turned on I am.

"Why not?"

"It'll be over in about four seconds."

"I don't mind. I want to." Your momentary shyness is long gone. "I've never seen one."

"No?"

"Unless a drawing in a health book counts."

"I'd say it doesn't."

"Your heart is racing," you say when you put a hand to my chest.

It is. The words are on the tip of my tongue. "I want to tell you something, but I don't want to say it in the—"

"You love me?"

There's no denying it now. "Well…yeah."

"I know. I love you, too."

"Bella." I laugh and shake my head at your ability to just say whatever's in your head. "God, I love everything about you."

"Good." You kiss me and reach for my belt buckle. "Will you let me?"

"You trying to steal my virtue?" I mumble against your lips.

"I think we left virtue behind like half an hour ago." You don't wait for an answer, undoing my jeans with one hand and pushing my t-shirt up with the other.

I don't stop you, because I really do want your hands on me. But I meant what I said about the four seconds. Sure, I've done this dozens of times, but I've never felt for anyone else anything close to what I feel for you. As I pull my shirt over my head, you tug my jeans and boxers down just enough and sit back on your knees to stare.

You're too quiet. I can't read whatever expressions cross your face. Tentatively, you reach out and ghost one finger down my length, then back up again, drawing a circle around the tip.

"Jesus, Bella," I breathe.

"It's bigger than I thought it would be."

My exhale is a laugh, but my face turns hot. "Thanks, I think?"

You take me in your hand. "And harder. And heavier." The light touch on my sensitive skin is almost unbearable. Mostly because it's _you_ touching me.

"You're killing me here."

"Sorry. Show me?"

Wrapping my hand around yours, I tighten the grip and guide your fist up and down slowly.

"I wasn't exaggerating, Bella. This won't last long."

"It's okay." You press a kiss to my naked chest. I let go when you catch on to the rhythm, and you hover over me on your knees to bite my lip and then kiss it, too. Your dress is still unbuttoned, hanging open, and my eyes wander over curves and planes.

"Fuck." My whole body shakes as I thrust into your fist. You look down, and instead of closing my eyes like I usually do, I watch you watching me come. Your eyes are wide and your lips are parted. When it's over, I realize you're not sure when to stop. Your movements have slowed, but you're still pumping me. I shudder and reach down to take your hand. "Too sensitive."

"Oh! Sorry. I don't—"

"It's okay." With my hand on the nape of your neck, I pull you down for a long, slow kiss.

"That's…a lot," you say with a grin. "More than I thought it would be."

My laugh is loud, and for the zillionth time, your blunt words make me crazy. I reach for my t-shirt and hand it to you, but you shake your head.

"I'll just go wash my hands."

I nod and use the shirt to clean up, tossing it into my laundry hamper when I'm done, then cover my eyes with my arm. My dick is still buzzing from the feel of your hand on me. When you come back, your dress is buttoned again, and your hair is combed. You snuggle against my side.

You're staring at it again.

"You can…" I trail off.

Your touch is feather-light, and I close my eyes and just feel, trying to keep my breathing even.

You trace a path, exploring slowly. "It's soft."

"It won't be for much longer if you keep doing that."

You laugh and lie down next to me, nuzzling my neck, and I kiss the top of your head and tug my jeans up so neither one of us is tempted.

"I love you," you say again.

"I know," I say, copying your words through a grin. "I love you, too."


	15. Chapter 15

_April 25, 1996_

I wonder sometimes if your dad knows how much time we spend at my house. Your mom does. But she's not the one with the guns and the badge. You say you two talk about things and that she's cool as long as you're home by curfew. I can't say it surprises me that you're open with your mom about our relationship. She might not know just how few times my parents have been here when we are, but still…

It's been a rough day for you. You woke up late this morning; you got a C on your math test, which I say isn't bad but is completely unacceptable to you; and you had an argument with Alice last night over how much time we spend together. You're in a mood after school. So I sit you down in my beanbag chair and hand you my favorite glass pipe.

You glance from it to me and back again. "This is…nice?"

I laugh and grab the Altoids tin from my desk drawer. "I think you need this."

First, you raise one eyebrow at me. Then you tilt your head to the side, and a smile creeps over your face slowly. Finally. "I think you're right."

I get things ready while you fiddle with the stereo, finally settling on the local alternative station. You tell me you've never used a pipe before. I show you how, but you say lighters make you nervous. So I hold it for you while you take a tentative hit, and for whatever reason, I'm suddenly very turned on. Like that time you asked to try out my skateboard. It's a mystery to me.

I lie on the floor with my head on your knees and feel the tension go out of you. You play with my hair as I draw circles around your ankle with my fingertip, and the afternoon is suddenly slow and easy.

"Edward?" you say quietly after a few minutes.

"Hmm?"

"Can you…?"

I open my eyes and peek up at your face. You're holding the pipe and the lighter and grinning lazily. Hopping up to my knees, I plant my hands on either side of the beanbag, leaning over you. "Of course. But it'll cost ya." You meet me halfway when I lean in to kiss you properly for the first time today. It's sweet, soft tugs and suction and lazy brushes of tongue.

"Hi," I say quietly when I pull back.

"Hey," you whisper. "I love you."

I give you one last peck on the lips and sit up to help you with the pipe again. You take a long drag and try your best to hold the smoke in, but you end up in a coughing fit. I pat your back, half concerned and half amused.

"You okay, baby?"

Your demeanor changes fast. You glare at me as you take a deep breath through your nose to calm your coughs. "Don't call me that."

I have no idea why you're angry at me. I only know that I really, really don't like it. "What's—"

"I just really hate that. Baby. I'm not a baby."

"I'm…sorry?"

"I mean I'm no bra-burning feminist or anything, and it's not that I find it demeaning. I just don't like it. It sounds so…so cheesy."

My momentary angst at thinking you were mad at me dissolves quickly. "Okay. I won't call you that." I chuckle and roll to my back on the floor.

The commercial break ends on the radio, and a Hole song starts up. You reach up and change the station to classic rock.

"I hate Courtney Love," you mumble.

"God, I love you." Chuckling, I reach up and grab your hand to pull you down next to me on the floor. We lie there in comfortable silence, using my beanbag as a pillow. And you're tucked against my side just like you should be, where I always want you to be.


	16. Chapter 16

_May 2, 1996_

"Let's be totally cliché and do it on prom night."

"Do what?" I ask, looking up from my German homework.

"You know what. _It_."

I almost snort Dr. Pepper out of my nose, making you giggle. That shit burns, but I'd do it a hundred more times if it makes you laugh like that. I glance around the library, but no one's paying us any attention. "Are you serious?"

"So serious."

"You want to go to prom?"

You shrug. "It's a rite of passage."

I've never even given prom a second thought, but when I take the time to imagine what you'd look like in a pretty dress, what it'd be like to hold you close and dance with you, it's actually kind of appealing.

I'm pretty sure you said something else, but I'm having trouble paying attention to it, because I'm busy watching you suck the sugar off a Sour Patch Kid before you pop it into your mouth.

"That's really distracting," I say lowly, kicking your feet apart under the table so I can slip my knee in between yours.

"Hm?"

I hook my foot around the leg of your chair and scoot you closer to me. "Bella," I groan into your ear. "You have no idea what you're doing to me."

You look up at me, and it's clear you weren't doing it on purpose. You're all wide-eyed confusion, and your lips are parted the slightest bit, sparking ideas in my head. "What…?"

I take a Sour Patch Kid from your bag and raise an eyebrow as I copy your motions. The tart flavor floods my mouth as I suck the sugar from the candy just like you did. I roll it around in my mouth with my tongue for good measure and watch you gulp.

"Jesus," you whisper. It's cute that you're picking up that habit from me.

I lean down to kiss you, tasting your sweet-and-sour lips and tongue and torturing myself. The clearing of a throat draws a gasp from you and a chuckle from me. The librarian is standing near our table, giving us a stern look. She only moves on when we break apart completely.

"Sorry," you say quietly, clearing your throat. "I didn't realize."

"I know. Between that and your talk of _doing it_, I'm going to have a serious case of blue balls."

"Maybe we should ditch the rest of the day."

There's nothing I'd like more than to blow off my last two classes and take you home to my bed—even out to my car—but I've got a science test, and though yours is the only biology I care to examine, I can't skip it.

"So, prom," I say, stretching my arms over my head. "You really want to go?"

"I sort of do. I always assumed I would. You?"

"Never really thought about it. But…I mean…if you want to."

You tilt your head to the side, and the end of your ponytail swishes over your shoulder. I don't know how many times a day I think about how pretty you are, but I'm sure it's a lot. "That's not how I pictured being asked to prom."

I chuckle and lean forward to kiss your forehead. "Bella."

"Yes?"

"Will you go to prom with me?"

"Abso-fucking-lutely." You flash me a wide grin and grab me by the nape of the neck to pull me down and press your lips against mine. "And I want the whole clichéd experience."

"So I've gotta get a tux."

"Yep."

"A corsage. A limo."

"A hotel room," you add, raising a suggestive eyebrow.

"Bella," I groan, lowering my forehead to my notebook.

"Sorry." You're not sorry, though, because even as you utter the word, you trail a hand up my thigh to where I'm back at half mast. "I want to, Edward."

"On prom night."

"Mm-hmm."

"You're serious."

"Oh yeah."

"Christ." Your hand lingers, and for the second time in about ten minutes, I want to toss you over my shoulder and haul ass out of here. I open my eyes to grin crookedly. "What if I don't want to wait that long?"

"You have a better idea?"

I should've known you'd challenge me. "Not really."

"You're being deliberately subversive."

"Been brushing up on your Word of the Day calendar?"

"I'm onto you, Cullen."

"Yeah, you are."

I watch a soft pink appear across your cheeks and know I won this round.


	17. Chapter 17

_May 18, 1996_

You wouldn't let me see your prom dress, said you wanted me to be surprised when I picked you up. Well, I'm definitely surprised. The dress is long and pretty and shows the slightest bit of cleavage. And it's pink. I've never seen you wear pink before. I like how it makes you look even softer. Sweeter. I wasn't nervous until you opened the door. Then I was knocked straight on my figurative ass. And now I _am_ nervous, because you look so heartbreakingly beautiful.

"Hey," I say lamely when I'm able to speak again. "You look…I don't even know…Jesus, Bella."

"Now how did I know you were going to say that?" You giggle and tug me inside the house by the hand. "You look very handsome. _Dapper_."

I tug at the collar of my tuxedo. It's not the most comfortable thing in the world. Tilting your face up to mine, you kiss me quickly. You must have high heels on under your dress, because you didn't have to rise up on your tiptoes like normal. I wonder briefly what _else_ you have on under that dress…then I clear my throat and step back, because your parents just turned the corner into the living room. There are pictures to be taken and warnings to be given.

Your mom fusses over us; your dad raises an eyebrow at me and, as expected, reminds us of your curfew. You somehow managed to convince them to let you stay out until midnight. When you told me, I teased you about turning into a pumpkin. You pouted, because you wanted so badly to spend the whole night together, but we couldn't manage it without it being really obvious.

They follow us out onto the front porch. I hold back a smirk when they tell us to be safe, because even though I know that's not how they meant it, those condoms are burning a hole in my glovebox.

In the car, you smooth out your long dress and pull down the visor so you can use the mirror and check out your hair. I just sit and stare at you. It suddenly hits me. I can't believe I get to keep you. I get to make these memories with you that I never thought I wanted. I'm the one that gets to take you to prom and later, take you…well, you know… My chest is tight, and I swallow hard.

You turn to catch me staring and give me a small, inquisitive smile. "I think you need to turn the key to make the engine go."

All I can do is shake my head back and forth slowly. I don't want to muss you, so even though it's really tough, I keep my lips and hands to myself.

* * *

We make a short appearance at the prom, which is held in some ballroom in the city. Despite our other plans, you really were serious about going. We meet up with Jasper and Alice, because he finally grew a pair and asked her out. You told me she's liked him for a while. I had no idea. But she and I don't really talk about that stuff, and honestly, I haven't spent much of my free time with anyone but you.

I don't even give him a hard time about it. I'm forever grateful to Jasper tonight. He offered up his dad's houseboat for us to use later since a hotel room was out of the question. After Jasper's parents divorced a few years ago, his dad moved back to Texas. He keeps the houseboat for visits, and since he's, well, got money, it's empty when he's not in town.

When we dance to "With or Without You," it doesn't feel cheesy at all. It feels perfect. I pull you tight against me, holding your hand against my heart. When you look up at me, my heart aches.

My voice is low and ragged when I speak. "You look so beautiful it literally hurts me."

You duck your head shyly, which I haven't seen you do since that first time we were in my bed together. "Thanks."

"Hey. Look at me," I tell you, just like I did back then. You do. "I love you."

You seem to melt against me as you lay your head on my chest. "I love you, too."


	18. Chapter 18

_May 18, 1996_

I take your hand and lead you down the long dock, holding your shoes and the small duffel I brought in my other hand. Neither of us said much on the drive here. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, but anticipation and nerves got the best of us. We find the houseboat easily, and I put down the bag and shoes to fumble with the key, unwilling to let go of your hand with my other. I squeeze it as the door swings open, and you step in first.

"Oh, wow," you say softly. "This place…"

It's amazing. There's a glass wall in the living room that looks out over the water. The reflection of twinkling city lights, the sounds of the water outside… Perfect.

"Do you need anything?" I ask, turning from the window and finally letting go of your hand. "Water or anything?"

You shake your head and start to wander around the room, touching random things here and there like you always do in a new place. "Hmm…I wonder what could be down this hallway," you tease, looking over your shoulder at me before you disappear around a corner.

I chuckle quietly and shake my head, taking a minute to give myself a pep talk.

Because I want everything good for you.

Because I love you more than I can even understand.

Because I want to feel close to you like I haven't ever felt with anyone before.

Because this is important, and I don't want to screw it up.

_This is Bella_, I tell myself, taking a deep breath and blowing it out slowly. _This is the girl you love._

You call my name from somewhere down the hall, so I pick up the bag again and follow the sound of your voice, and _holy shit_.

There's this big bed, and there's this big window, and there's this tiny lingerie, and there's this beautiful girl.

And it's all mine, even if only for tonight. _You're_ all mine. For as long as you'll let me keep you. I'm not even nervous anymore.

"This is really stereotypical of us, you know," you say as I move toward you.

I laugh and shrug out of my jacket. "It was your idea."

"I know." You tug me by my belt until my knees are against the edge of the bed. "C'mere."

"I'm here."

A buckle is undone. Pants and shirt are unbuttoned. Boxers are pushed to the floor. You take the lead. And I'm standing naked in front of you in more ways than one.

I reach out to trace the edge of your bra. It's lacy and doesn't have straps, and it's so easy to push it down so I can push _you_ down and kiss your nipples. Your chest. Your neck. Your lips. I want all of it at once, but I want to take my time with every part of you.

You bite my bottom lip gently. I groan and crawl over you as you scoot back up the bed, lying down with your head on a pillow and your knees parted, making room for me. I grind against you once, and the heat and the damp and the soft scratch of lace are almost too much.

I push against you one more time before moving away to kiss down your body. Back to your perfect nipples, down your stomach, across your hipbones. My hands follow my lips, tracing the same path until I reach lace that's sheer enough for me to see…everything.

I hook my fingers around thin elastic and pull. Looking up at you watching me, I press kisses against the insides of your thighs and then put my tongue to soft, wet skin. This is something we've done before, but it's somehow different tonight.

Like always, I can tell when you're close. You're trembling and moving against my mouth, but I don't really want you to come like this. I want to be inside you. That thought—the knowledge that it's about to happen—makes me harder than ever. You whine softly when I slow and stop, but it turns to a sigh when I kiss my way back up to your mouth. And then I'm _right there_, my dick slipping against you where you feel so, _so_ ready. It's unintentional at first, but Jesus Christ, it feels so good that I can't stop sliding against you. You dig your heel into the back of my thigh.

"God, Edward," you whisper. There's not a whole lot we haven't done, but I've never been naked between your legs, never felt you like this. It's always been too tempting.

There's nothing I want more than to feel you bare, but I've had enough doctor-to-son lectures to know better. I reach down to the bag beside the bed and pull out a condom, then rise to my knees to roll it on.

I admit it. I practiced. I didn't want to look like a huge idiot.

When it's done, I cover your body again with mine and search your eyes for even a hint of uncertainty. It's not there. But I ask anyway. "You're sure about this?"

"Yeah," you say on an exhale. "So sure."

Struggling to keep my eyes open through the intensity of this moment, I slide against you once more. And then I'm pushing slowly into wet heat. I watch you carefully, ready to stop at the first sign of hesitation. Your lips are parted, your eyes closed, your forehead creased. I kiss the space between your eyebrows.

"You okay?" I ask.

"Yeah. Just…slow."

I push in another inch, and you gasp. "Jesus, Bella," I whisper. "You feel so good."

"So good."

"Doesn't hurt?"

You shake your head quickly and open your eyes to look at me. "No. It's just different from…you know…fingers." You smirk, and my laugh causes me to lose the slow momentum. You wince when I slip in too quickly.

"Sorry," I whisper, holding still and kissing your forehead, your cheeks, your lips.

"It's okay." You wrap one leg around my hips and prod me forward. "Go."

When I'm all the way in, I stop again and let you lead. After a few seconds, you nudge your hips up against me. My groan is embarrassing. I pull out the smallest bit, and then I'm not the only one making embarrassing noises. We find a slow rhythm, and shockingly, I don't have to concentrate on holding back. I'm able to just _feel_. Feel the warmth, the tight fit, the friction.

"Edward," you gasp. "Please…"

"Tell me."

"I want…just…"

"What, baby?"

"More. Faster."

I'm not sure what I expected for our first time, but it definitely wasn't that.

You match my pace, urging me closer, deeper, until you cry out, and then you're squeezing me, and I can't hold back anymore. That clench I've only felt when I had my fingers inside you now feels…_God_. I don't have words for it. I bury my face against your neck when I come.

Several minutes must go by as I lie there breathing hot and fast against your skin. Gradually, your arms and legs loosen around me, melting like Jell-O, which is about how I'm feeling right now, too.

When I catch my breath, I realize I'm probably crushing the hell out of you. I need to get rid of the condom anyway. I roll to my side and take care of it, then pull you close, skimming my fingers over your chest and stomach, kissing your shoulder and then your face.

You haven't said a word, and I'm starting to worry. Then again, I haven't spoken either. "Are you okay?" I ask.

You turn your head toward me and kiss my lips. "Better than." Your smile is radiant, and _Jesus_ you're beautiful. All flushed and smiley with messy hair and a slight sheen of sweat on your forehead and cheeks. "I didn't think it'd last that long. I didn't think I'd come."

"Gee, thanks," I say on a laugh.

"No, it's not that I don't—"

"I know," I say, kissing the top of your head. "I'm sort of surprised, too."

You sigh and turn to your side to settle against me, tangling our legs together. "Edward?"

"Hmm?" My eyes are closed. I've got one hand in your hair and the other drawing circles up and down your naked back, and I've never felt so relaxed in my life.

"You called me baby."

I knew I wasn't gonna get away with that. "I did. Sorry."

"I didn't…hate it."

I pull back to look at your sparkly eyes, your smirk. "No?"

"Uh-uh. It was kind of sexy."

"Jesus, Bella," I breathe for the thousandth time since I met you.

You giggle and lay your head back down on my arm. I want it like this forever.


	19. Chapter 19

_May 18, 1996_

It's been so good lying here with you, just talking for the last hour and enjoying the part _after _the sex. I wouldn't have even imagined it would be like this.

"I don't wanna leeeave," you mumble, nuzzling your face into my chest.

I pet your hair and chuckle. "Are you whining?"

"_No_. I'm stating facts."

"I don't want to either. But we've got"—I stretch and crane my neck to look at the clock on the bedside table—"another hour and a half."

Taking you home is the very last thing I want to do right now. I love having you pressed naked against me, both of your legs wrapped around my right one and your tits brushing against my chest. It's already making me hard again.

I kiss your lips once, softly, tugging you closer. "You hungry or anything?"

"Uh-uh. I've got everything I want here."

"Cornball."

"I am not."

"It's okay to be a cheese monster every now and then, Bella." I yelp and jerk away when you pinch my nipple.

"Quit teasing me."

"Who's teasing whom here? You're the one rubbing your naked self all over me."

"Did you just say _whom_?" you ask, giggling and moving your hand down my stomach. "How very proper of you. Anyway, that's not teasing. That's just…feeling good. It feels good."

I groan when you wrap your warm hand around my dick.

"_Jesus, Bella_," you say in the ridiculous deep voice that's your imitation of me. It makes me laugh.

"Yeah, that." I brush my fingers softly over your already hard nipples. "That feels nice." No idea whether I'm talking about your hands on me or mine on you.

"Does it?" you whisper.

"Mm."

"You're ready to go again." It's a statement, not a question.

"We shouldn't. I don't want you to hurt."

Trailing kisses across my shoulder, you throw a leg over mine and press yourself against my hip. "I don't care."

"You're not…sore? Or anything?"

"Why don't you check it out for me?"

I chuckle and shake my head, but far be it from me to deny you anything. Especially when it's something I love doing. I trail a hand down your stomach to dark brown curls and wet, wet skin. "Baby—" I stop myself, even though you told me you didn't mind me saying it before. My fingers swirl and prod, and you draw in a sharp breath through your teeth. "I can't do it if it's gonna hurt you, Bella."

You shake your head. "It doesn't hurt. It just feels, like, sensitive or something. It feels _good_."

"Yeah?"

Your sigh is sexy, like you're only feeling good things. "Yeah."

I roll over you and press you down against the pillow so I can kiss you long and deep, moving fingers in and out of you, circling your clit. You push against my hand and move your fist faster on my dick.

"I need you," you whimper.

"Are you whining again?" I tease.

You ignore me completely. "I want to be on top this time."

"Oh my god," I mumble. Because _yes_. I absolutely want that.

You push against my chest, and it takes a tangled and awkward minute for us to get situated. I didn't think I'd get to have you again tonight, and I really didn't expect that you'd have the confidence to do _this_. Then again, you're you.

I grab another condom and roll it on while you watch. Your eyes are hooded and your mouth is open, and you swallow hard when I grab your hips and adjust you until the tip of me is where it needs to be. Again, I let you lead. You sink down slowly with your hands on my chest, and from this angle, I can see it all. I can see you slide down on me, can see me disappearing inside you, and I have to close my eyes against the immediate urge to come.

When I look at you again, you have your eyes closed, too. You're sitting so still, biting your bottom lip and furrowing your brow.

"How do I…?" You rock uncertainly back and forth on top of me.

"Just…do what feels right." I rub my palms up and down your thighs as you lift up slightly and sink back down again. "And _that_ feels phenomenal."

"Oh," you whisper. "_Oh_."

"Okay?"

"Yeah. I can feel…more."

Once you find a rhythm, your eyes fall closed again and your head tips back. I could watch you like this always. The little sounds you make send sparks through me, and suddenly it's too much.

"Bella, I can't—"

"It's okay," you whisper. "I'm close."

Those words do me in, and then I'm pushing up into you, feeling the waves take over, vaguely aware that I'm digging my fingers into your hips. I thought this was good before. But you were right. I can feel more this way, too. It feels deeper. And _amazing_.

Just as I start to go soft again, you move faster, rocking and grinding, and then you're squeezing me deep inside you. You cry out. I groan. I'm getting close to insanity, because I'm still sensitive, and it feels _too_ good.

You fall forward onto my chest, breathing hard as your heart pounds against mine.

"Bella?" I whisper into your ear, kissing your temple and nudging your hips with my hands. "I need to, uh, the—the condom. Don't want it to, you know. Slip off or something."

You wince and breathe deeply as you move off me and lie down on your stomach. I roll to my side and take care of things before turning back to you. Your face is buried in the pillow.

_Shit_, I think. I knew it. "Did I hurt you?"

"No." Your voice is muffled, but you don't look upset when you turn your head to the side and face me. "_You_ didn't hurt me. I'm just a little sore is all."

"Told you" is the worst kind of brush-off ever. So I pull you close and kiss you instead, rubbing your back and arms. Sweeping your hair to the side and kissing your neck. Trailing fingers over the soft curve of your ass where it meets the top of your legs.

I love this.

I love _you_. I whisper the words to you, and you give me a sleepy smile.

Being with you… Jesus. I swore before that I'd never say _making love_, but now, I sort of get it. Even if I still think it's a corny phrase.

But this? Just lying here with your head against my chest and our lips brushing softly and our hands smoothing over naked, warm skin…

This is the best part.


	20. Chapter 20

_May 18, 1996_

We pull into your driveway with ten minutes to spare. Your dad's patrol car isn't here, which gives me an odd sense of relief. It didn't occur to me before, but I don't think I could look him in the eye right now. I feel like he'd know. He'd look straight into my eyes, and he'd _know_. I laugh quietly as I come around to open your door. When you're on your feet, I lean forward with my hands against the car, caging you in. I can't get enough of you right now. It feels weird to just drop you off at your front door after the things we did tonight.

"Hey," I say against your lips.

"Hi."

"Just so you know"—I kiss your neck and your bare shoulder and the spot just under your ear—"tonight definitely ranks high in the top five nights of my life."

You scoff. "It'd better take the number one spot."

I bite my lip and pretend to think about it, and you smack my chest.

"I'm kidding. It's definitely number one."

"You know," you say, lacing your fingers together behind my neck, "you don't have to leave just because I have a curfew. We can hang out. They're fine as long as I'm home."

Sighing, I drop my forehead to your shoulder. "I can't. My parents sort of gave me a curfew, too."

"_Your_ parents?" You push me back with your hands on my shoulders. "They did not."

"They did. Ten after midnight."

Your giggle does things to me that make me want to take you back to that houseboat right _now_. "Ten after?"

"I told them yours was midnight, so they gave me some wiggle room." Despite my mom and dad being gone a lot, they're still good parents. They still want to know I'm safe when they're not home, and they still want me to have boundaries. I respect that, and they trust me. I don't want to blow that.

"That was nice of them," you tease as I walk you to your front door. The porch light is on, and the TV flickers through the curtains on the front window. "We've still got, what, fifteen minutes? Come sit with me."

I nod, and you lead me to the porch swing. Even though your hair is pulled back and your makeup is all but gone, you're just as gorgeous as you were when I picked you up earlier tonight. Maybe even more. I push the skirt of your fluffy dress against your leg so I can sit next to you.

"So," you say quietly, "was it…what you thought it would be?"

"Prom? It was all right." I love teasing you, but you're all business now.

"Edward."

I stop the swing and angle myself toward you. Your cheek is soft under my fingertips. "Well, I had high expectations, but… It was _better_ than I thought it would be." I smile when you do.

"Yeah," you breathe. "Same here." You grab the front of my shirt and tug me forward so you can kiss me. I love it when you do that. It reminds me of our first kiss.

I slide my tongue into your mouth, and just when things start to get heavy, the front door creaks open, and we break apart.

_Please don't be her dad. Please don't be her dad,_ I think, squeezing my eyes shut before I turn to face the door. Then I let out a huge sigh. Your mom's standing there in her bathrobe, holding a glass of wine. She raises an eyebrow at me, but her smile is all amusement and mischief.

"Did you kids have fun?"

I'm sure my face is ten shades of red right now.

"Yeah," you answer, grasping my hand in yours. "We had a great time. Edward didn't even complain when I made him dance."

I bump your shoulder with mine. "Pretty sure I asked _you_ to dance first."

"You two." Renee shakes her head and leans against the door frame. "So damned cute."

"Mother."

"Okay, okay," she says, winking at me like we have some kind of secret. "Thank you for being home on time. I'm going to bed. Your dad should be home in about thirty minutes, so don't stay out here too long."

I squeeze your hand when she goes back inside. "I'd better head out."

We stand up, and you put your hands on either side of my face and stare at me until it gets a little too intense. "I love you, you know," you whisper.

"Love you, too."

"Thanks for humoring me."

"Bella." I can't help but laugh. "Humoring you was the last thing I was doing tonight."

"Well then, thanks for…everything. You know."

"Thanks for saying yes to me."

"God, you're a cornball," you tease, copying my accusation from earlier.

"You know it." I press my lips to yours. "I don't want to, but I've really gotta go now."

"Okayyy." You wrap your arms around my neck and hold tight. "I wish we could've spent the whole night together."

"Me too." I kiss your forehead and then your lips one last time. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

"Yeah."

"You've gotta let me go, though," I say, laughing and unwinding your arms from around me.

"Sorry."

"Don't ever be sorry for that. Good night, love." I back down the porch steps and walk toward my car. Before I can get there, though, you call my name again. I turn around to see you standing there, looking gorgeous and happy.

"I like _love_ much better than _baby_."

Shaking my head, I say what I know you're expecting, so I give it to you. "Jesus, Bella. I love you."


	21. Chapter 21

_May 23, 1996_

We spend Thursday evening at your house. I lean back on the couch in the living room, and you spread out over the cushions, resting your head on my lap. Because it's Thursday and it's your house and _your_ television, I'm forced to watch the thing I swore I'd never cave to. But after about twenty minutes, I have to admit…_Friends_ is kind of funny.

"I told you it was hilarious," you say, looking up at me as I laugh.

"I'll deny it if you ever tell anyone."

"I would never. You have a _reputation_ to uphold." Your tone is mocking, but I know you wouldn't sell me out like that.

The show ends, and you sit up and crawl across my lap, situating yourself sideways. I kiss you quickly, just a peck, because both of your parents are home. If your dad walked in on us making out, I'd never be allowed back here again.

You blow out a deep breath and rest your head on my shoulder. "So…" You seem nervous, tentative, which is so unlike you.

I'm suddenly on high alert. "I'm not sure I like the sound of that."

"I have something to confess."

"Okayyy," I say, tensing and pulling my shoulder back so I can force you to look at me.

"I sort of…got a letter today. An acceptance one."

When we first met, you said you wanted to stay in the Pacific Northwest for college. You said you'd probably go to UW. But we both kept our options open and applied to several different schools. Neither one of us has really addressed the subject since we sent off applications. The fact that you're stumbling over this makes me incredibly anxious.

"From…?" I prompt.

"Berkeley."

The word hangs in the air. That's not a bad thing. Berkeley's one of the schools we both applied to. It has a great English program _and_ a great engineering program. So far, though, I've only been accepted at UW. I plaster on a smile because, despite my worry that I won't get in, I really am proud of you.

"That's amazing, love." I run a hand through my hair and then kiss your forehead. "Congrats."

Your lips are pursed, and the look you give me isn't happy at all. "You just pulled your hair."

"Huh?"

"You did this." When you push a hand through my hair, it feels a million times better than when I do it myself. Your nails scratch lightly over my scalp, and I lean into it. "It's what you do when you're upset."

"It is?"

"You know it is, Edward. Don't pretend you're happy about this."

"Know what I'm _not_ happy about?" My voice gets a little louder. "You assuming that I'm pretending anything. I _am_ happy for you. This is a big achievement for you. Am I worried? Yeah, a little bit. I don't want to be separated for the next four years. But Bella…" I scrub a hand over my face and lower my voice again. "It hurts that you think I'd be anything but proud of you."

You climb off me and look down at your folded hands in your lap. Neither one of us speaks for a minute. "I don't want to spend four years apart either. If you don't get in—"

"Don't even say it."

"Say what?"

"That you won't go. Or that we'll break up. Or that we'll have holidays and summers and weekends here and there."

Shock covers your face when you look up, and there are tears in your eyes. _Shit_. I've never seen you cry, and now you look like you're about to because of _me_.

"I wasn't going to say any of those things. You're making this really hard on me, Edward."

"How?" I struggle to keep my voice from rising. "I'm trying to tell you that I'm happy for you, and you won't let me."

"Maybe I don't _want_ you to be!" you shout.

Well, hell.

"What's going on in here?" asks a deep voice behind me.

Double hell. I turn my head to see both of your parents. Thankfully, they don't look mad. Just curious.

"Nothing, Daddy. It's okay."

He narrows his eyes for a second, then backs out of the room again toward the kitchen.

Your mom stays put. "Do you have PMS, Bella?" she whispers.

"OH, my god!" Your shout makes me jump, and now you're really on the verge of tears. I cover your hand with mine. "Mom! Please, _please_ go."

Renee puts her hands up defensively. "Sorry, honey. I'll just…" She goes the same way your dad did, and we're alone again.

This is…uncomfortable. The tension in the air just multiplied.

"Look," I say, face flaming, because no guy wants to hear about his girlfriend's…girly business. "Can you just tell me what you need? I hate seeing you like this, and I hate that I'm making you feel this way."

You pull your knees up and wrap your arms around them. "It's not you. It's really not. I'm just… I don't know. Can you…can I… I think I need some alone time."

Your words are a hot knife to my gut, but you rush to explain.

"Just for tonight. I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by that."

Breathing out slowly, I find myself running both hands through my hair this time. "All right. I'm gonna go, then."

You nod and squeeze your arms around my waist when I stand up. Your touch reassures me. I kiss the top of your head, tell you bye, and leave.

* * *

My mom appears from around the corner when I slam the front door. She's wearing an apron and holding a wooden spoon coated in red sauce. "What on Earth is the matter?" she asks, wide-eyed.

"Sorry," I grumble. "Didn't think anyone was home."

"I parked in the garage. Honey, what's wrong?"

"Nothing." I follow her into the kitchen.

"Is it Bella? Did you have a fight?"

"Not…exactly." I open the fridge and close it again a second later, not really looking for anything. "I don't know. I've never understood girls."

"Naturally. You're a seventeen-year-old boy."

"I thought I understood Bella."

"What happened?"

All I really want to do is go up to my room and find solace in my favorite pipe, but I can't exactly do that with my mom here. So I give in and plop down on a barstool on the opposite side of the kitchen island.

"She got into Berkeley."

"That's wonderful!" Mom claps her hands together.

"Yeah, that's what I said. And then she got kind of…mad. Or something."

"Oh, honey. Girls are complicated." She comes around the counter to sit beside me. "But so are boys. You can't tell me you're not the least bit apprehensive."

"I am. But I didn't want her to see that. Then it was like she was pissed because I told her I was proud of her."

"She's probably feeling conflicted. It sounds like she wants you to be happy, but she also wants to know you don't want to be so far away."

"Yeah, I guess. She yelled, and her mom asked if she has…girl…troubles, and then she said she needed some time by herself."

My mom laughs. "I don't blame her. That's a pretty horrifying thing for someone to ask her daughter in front of her boyfriend."

My head's spinning. I need to change the subject. "Why are you making spaghetti at nine p.m.?"

"Oh!" She gets up to stir the sauce again, licking some off her finger. "You and your dad are going to be bachelors for a few days. I have to go down to San Francisco for a conference. So I'm making a big batch to freeze. All you need to do is boil some noodles and pop the sauce in the microwave."

"Oh." I don't mention how close she'll be to Berkeley.

* * *

An hour or so later, someone knocks on the door. Mom pokes her head around when I tell her to come in.

"Someone's here to see you."

My heart jumps into my throat, but when she pushes the door open wider, it's not you standing there. It's Alice.

"Hey, _arschloch_," she says, waltzing in with a Ziploc bag full of cookies. "What'd you do to Bella?"

"Jesus Christ, Alice. I really hope you're kidding right now."

"I'm, like, three-fourths kidding."

"When'd you change your hair?" I ask, sitting up from my sprawled position in the beanbag. Alice's normally blue hair is now a dark shade of purple.

She gives me an odd look. "It was like this at prom. Jasper likes purple."

I groan. Bella and I really have been living in a bubble over the past weeks. "Sorry."

"No biggie. Anyway, I talked to your girl earlier. What's with the angst?"

"I dunno. I think she's confused. Which makes me confused."

"I think you're right."

"No way." I smirk at her and steal a cookie. "You're willingly admitting that I might be right?"

She sighs. "I'm admitting that sometimes you're not so dense. I think you're both being silly."

I start to protest, to say that I'm not being silly. That you're the one who wanted to be alone. That I'm only upset because I somehow upset _you_.

"But," she says after practically swallowing a cookie whole, "every bubble bursts. Every couple has their first fight."

"We're not fighting." My brow furrows.

"You know what I mean."

"So…what? You think I should call her or something?"

"Mmm, nope. It's after ten. And I think you should respect her wish to be alone. But I also think you should pick her up for school tomorrow like normal and kick some sense into her."

"I'm not about to tell her what to do, Alice. This is her decision, and I don't want to influence it."

She throws her hands up and groans. "All these dramatics for probably nothing. You could still get into Berkeley, and even if you don't, it's not the end of the world."

"Yeah," I mumble, lying back on my beanbag again. "I know. I just feel bad for not knowing what she wants."

"I don't think even _she_ knows what she wants right now. I think she needs to sleep on it. You'll both feel better in the morning." She leans over and hugs me tight. "I've missed you, friend."

"Me too," I say, ruffling her hair. Alice stays for a while longer, talking my ear off about Jasper and school and our German final next Monday. It's a nice distraction.

The only thing that sucks is that I need a distraction from thinking about you in the first place.

* * *

I'm beyond surprised to see you sitting on the couch when I come downstairs to leave for school. It's early still. I was going to grab coffee for us before picking you up this morning. I wonder if you even slept last night, because you hate getting up early.

"How long have you been here?" That might be one of the worst things to say right now, but it's my first reaction.

You stand and shrug. "Just a few minutes. Your mom let me in on her way out. Edward, I'm really sorry about last night."

"It's okay," I say, unsure if I should move closer or not. "I understand."

"Yeah, but it was really shitty of me…the way I handled it."

I keep quiet, because I don't actually want to tell you it's okay again.

"I'm just…conflicted. I guess I thought you'd be bummed or something. I didn't expect you to act so happy."

There's no actual amusement in my short laugh. "Bella, you have no idea how hard it was for me not to show how disappointed I was."

You close the distance between us tentatively and put your arms around my waist, locking your hands together behind my back. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry, too."

"You don't have anything to apologize for." You sigh against my chest. "I probably would've reacted the same way no matter what you said. I was just in a crappy mood."

"I get it," I say, stroking your hair and rocking us side to side. We stay like that for a few moments before I tilt your chin up, forcing you to look at me. "Next time, though, it'd be great if you'd talk to me. Help me understand what you need."

You nod. "Yeah. I'll try."

"I love you," I say, leaning in for a kiss. It's just a soft brush, but it still makes my heart beat faster.

"I love you," you repeat between kisses. "So much."

* * *

**A/N: **Sorry for the wait. It's been a busy few days! And thanks so much for all the kind reviews. You guys are the best. :)**  
**


	22. Chapter 22

_May 24, 1996_

The mood in my living room turns quickly from tentative to sweet to hot. I hated you being mad at me last night, but if this is what making up is like…

"Let's ditch," you murmur against my lips, pushing your hips against mine.

"Bellaaaa," I moan. "I can't."

"You can, though."

"Can't."

Your hand wanders down the front of my jeans, and you nip at my bottom lip. "_Can_."

Now _I'm_ the one who's conflicted. I have calculus this morning, but it's not like we'll be learning anything new with finals next week. And I do have an A anyway…

That makes the answer pretty easy.

Without another thought, I take your hand and lead you back up to my bedroom. I shut the door and lock it, just in case, and you push me back until I'm up against it. Your hands roam, pulling my t-shirt up and over my head, trailing down my chest and stomach, unbuttoning my jeans. I toe off my shoes. You tug at my pants and boxers, following them down until you're on your knees. Then you're licking and sucking, and my dick looks so good in your mouth. I watch you pull slowly off, swirl your tongue around the tip, and take me back in again. You've become a goddamned pro at this.

"Need this off," I say, reaching down to yank at your dress. I love that you wear dresses so often. It makes things more…accessible. You take it off quickly, so eager to get back to your work. If it were possible for me to get any harder right now, I would be.

My head thumps back against the door, and my hands go into your hair. Not pulling or pushing, not guiding, just feeling. Feeling the suction of your mouth, the brushes of your tongue, the spiraling buildup in my stomach, the tightening in my balls… But it's the first opportunity we've had since last weekend to be together like this, and I want you. Gently, I nudge your head back. You look up at me with your eyebrows raised and your red, wet lips still parted.

"Come on." I help you to your feet and lead you over to the bed, stripping the rest of your clothes off and urging you down to my bed. It's unmade and still warm, and all I can think is that when I lie down to go to sleep later tonight, it'll have your scent all over it. Reaching into my nightstand drawer, I pull out a strip of condoms and tear one off.

"Can I do it?" you ask.

"Uh. Do you…do you know how?"

You roll your eyes. "I think I can manage."

"It's just kind of—" Before I can get the words out, you're pinching the tip and rolling the condom over my dick. It's kinda hot, feeling and watching you do that to me. When it's in place, you pull me down and tilt your hips up, wrapping your legs around me. I slide inside, not stopping until I'm all the way in. As much as I've thought about our first time (our first _two_ times, really), as much as I've tried to remember just how good you felt, I fell way short of the mark. It's soft and wet and hot, and we're a perfect fit.

We start slow, but that doesn't last long. I'm not concerned about being gentle this time, and neither are you. You push up against me and tell me how you want it. I get to my knees and grab your hips so I can try a new angle. You gasp, and I'm not sure at first if it's a good sound or a bad one, but then…

"That feels so good," you whisper.

So I move a little faster, thrust a little harder, always listening, always taking your cues. I'm getting close, but I want you to come first. My fingers find your clit. You start to move faster, and by now I know that means you're close. Just when I think I can't hold out much longer, you cry out and tighten around me, pulsing and squeezing, and I finally let go with a groan.

With my hands on the mattress on either side of your head, I lean down and crash my lips to yours. You shiver and smile against my mouth.

"Think it'll keep getting better every time?" you ask. "I mean…last weekend was amazing, but this time…holy eff."

"Since when do you say _eff_?" I ask, kissing you once more. "And Jesus, I hope so."

* * *

**A/N: **Sorry again for the wait! Life's been a bit busy this week. I've got a deadline to meet on a manuscript I'm editing and another one waiting for me after that. So the actual paying jobs are priority. ;) The next couple of days will be busy, too. We're going out of town for another hurling tournament, so there probably won't be another update until Sunday afternoon or evening. After that, the update schedule should be back to the same. Thanks for your patience, and thanks for reading!


	23. Chapter 23

_May 24, 1996_

My bedroom is sunny when we wake up. The alarm clock on my nightstand says it's just after nine. Guess we're not making it to school at all today. That's fine by me. We've got the house to ourselves, and how many chances do we get to just lie around naked and tangled up together? It's a warm day, so I open the windows to let in the breeze as we laze in my bed, dozing and talking and touching.

My bedroom is _also_ located in the front corner of the house, right above the driveway, which is a good thing. Because when I wake up again closer to ten a.m., the first thing I hear is a car door.

I jump up to look out the window. Dad. My dad's home.

Shit.

"Bella," I say quietly but urgently. I push your hair away from your face, kissing your cheek as you stretch your arms over your head. "I love you, but we've gotta get you outta here."

"Hmm?" Your eyes are only half open. I pull you by the hand until you're sitting up.

"My dad's home." The sound of feet on the stairs lights a fire under both our asses. "Shit. Come on, dollface. Up and at 'em."

With fully open eyes and a lovesick grin, you jump up and wrap the sheet around you, then stand by my bedroom door so you'll be behind it when it opens. I search for my boxers, tugging them on when I find them on the floor. The memory of you pulling them down as you put your mouth on me flashes through my head. I'd probably have an instant boner if I weren't afraid that I'm about to get my ass handed to me. I hop on one foot, trying to get the tangled boxers up and almost falling on my face in the process. You cover your mouth to stifle a giggle.

"Edward?" My dad's voice is muffled through the door, and even though my car's in the driveway and my bookbag's downstairs by the front door, I still harbored a tiny bit of hope that he'd assume I walked to school.

"Yeah, just a sec." I take a deep breath and glance around, kicking your dress and underwear under my bed.

I don't _think_ my dad would be all that mad if he found out you were here, but it's best not to chance it.

You're still covering your mouth, trying not to laugh. I put a finger to my lips and a hand on the doorknob and take another deep breath as I open the door just wide enough not to look suspicious.

"Hey, Dad."

"What're you doing home, Son?" He looks tired, to say the least. I haven't seen him since Tuesday night. "You feeling okay?"

"Uh, yeah." I can't lie to a dad who's a doctor about being sick. "Just didn't sleep well last night. I needed a day off."

"It's Friday. You couldn't wait for the weekend?"

I shrug.

"Sorry." He rubs his hands over his face and sighs. "I'm an exhausted grouch who's going straight to bed. Does your mother know you stayed home?"

I shake my head. "She left before it was time for me to get up."

"Just…call one of us next time, okay?"

"Yeah. I will."

He starts to turn away, but then he looks at me with a half-smile. "Guess there won't be many 'next times,' huh?"

Graduation's just a couple of weeks away, and even though I still don't know where I'm going for school, I certainly won't be living at home. I grin back at him. "Guess not."

He shakes his head and steps forward. For a second, I'm afraid he's going to want to come in and talk, but he just ruffles my wild hair and tells me good night…even as the sun climbs higher in the sky.

I shut the door and lean back against it, pressing a hand to my chest like it'll slow my racing heart. You finally let a quiet giggle through and wrap your arms around my waist.

"You handled that like a champ. How many girls have you had to hide in your bedroom?" you tease.

I chuckle. "This is a first, love."

* * *

_June 1, 1996_

The Saturday after finals week, we go out with Alice and Jasper to celebrate. They're gross, staring and kissing and leaning on each other all the time. Is that what we look like to other people? Because it's sort of obnoxious.

I decide that I don't care if _we're_ obnoxious. But Alice is almost like my sister.

We've got a whole week before graduation, and I'd ask Jasper for occasional use of the houseboat again, but they're using it a lot now. So…ew. I won't be taking you back to that bed. Unless we get desperate. There _is_ a couch.

At dinner, you insist on sitting on the same side of the booth as Alice. She pouts at first, but you both go into girly mode right after our drinks arrive. It's good to step out of our bubble every now and then, I tell myself…even though my legs frame yours under the table and we sneak frequent looks at each other that say _your_ legs will be framing _me_ later tonight.

* * *

After we eat, we use our new fake ID's (procured by Jasper) to go see a band we just heard about. They're new to the alternative scene, and they blow us away.

"You wanna try for a beer?" I shout over the music.

It's semi-dark here, but I can still see you blush. "I'd rather not push it. My dad would kill me."

I chuckle and kiss you, because you're so damned cute. After the first set, we go grab some water at the bar, where I see a very familiar face.

Tanya.

I haven't seen her since we broke up. She's hanging all over some guy. My eyes dart away, and I turn my back to her before she can see me.

My luck's not so great later on. She spots me in the crowd and waves. I put my arm around your shoulders and nod at her. Tanya narrows her eyes and turns away. Thank God. But she corners me when I'm waiting for you outside the bathroom.

"Is that Bella?" she asks without so much as a hello.

I cross my arms and eyeball the guy whose hand she's clinging to. "Not that it concerns you, but yeah."

She nods. "She's…pretty."

I'm utterly speechless.

"Good seeing you." She smiles, and they walk away.

_That's it?_ I think. Your hand on my arm startles me. I didn't see you come out of the bathroom.

"Who was that?" you ask.

"Uh…that was Tanya."

"_The_ Tanya?"

"Yeah."

"Huh. She's…cute."

I look up at the ceiling and laugh, pulling you close. "She's got _nothin'_ on you, dollface."

You stand on your tiptoes, wrap your arms around my neck, and whisper in my ear, "I think I like _dollface_ best of all."


	24. Chapter 24

_June 8, 1996_

It's graduation day.

My Berkeley letter still hasn't come.

But I've got two other acceptance letters in my desk drawer—one from UW and one from Stanford University. Stanford's got a phenomenal school of engineering…and it's only an hour away from Berkeley.

So when they asked me what college I wanted under my name in the graduation program, I gave in. And there it is. In print. Officially.

_Edward Masen Cullen_

_Stanford University_

I scan the rest of the list, surprised by some of our classmates' choices. Then I reach your name, and something jumps out. Something huge.

_Isabella Marie Swan_

_Stanford University_

It has to be a mistake. You committed to Berkeley. My heart pounds in my chest. I have no idea if this is real. I try really, really hard not to get too excited about it, but…that's incredibly difficult.

We're not seated anywhere near each other since it's alphabetical order. Craning my neck, I try to find you in the sea of black caps and gowns, but you're too far back. I'm going to lose my mind. I keep staring down at the program in my lap, expecting to find that the optimistic part of my brain is playing tricks on me. But it doesn't happen. It's right there in black and white print.

The stupid ceremony drags on and on. The principal speaks, the valedictorian speaks, too many people say too many things, until finally, the only part that really matters starts. My row finally lines up to walk across the stage, and I take the opportunity to search the crowd while I wait. Everyone looks the same from up here. When my name is called, I cross the stage and shake hands with Principal Greene, with other people I don't even know, and then struggle to find you one last time before I take the stairs back down and make my way to my seat.

My knee bounces as I sit and wait and wait some more. Finally—_finally_—I see you. There are four people ahead of you in line, and you seem to be doing the same thing I was. I watch your head turn slowly as you scan the rows, but your eyes never find mine. Then it's your turn. You walk up the steps and across the stage, and eventually, as you make your way back down the aisle to your seat, I catch your eye. You break into a wide smile and nod your head once, and every ounce of stress and worry and uncertainty drains right out of me, replaced by a warm feeling surging through my chest. I grin back and mouth that I love you before you pass my row.

* * *

Standing with Alice and a few of my other friends, I wait impatiently for you to come outside. I'm antsy, shifting my weight from foot to foot as I keep one eye on the exit door and pretend to listen to the conversation going on around me. And then there you are.

"Bella!" Alice cries, waving her arms at you before I can get a word out. You run over and throw your arms around her, but then Jasper comes out, and she's gone in less than three seconds.

"Hey, dollface." I wrap my arms around your waist, and yours go around my neck. "So…the program." I try really hard to rein it in, to be casual, just in case, but I'm sure what basically boils down to euphoria is written all over me. "Is it true?"

"I wanted it to be a surprise. It was so hard keeping my mouth shut."

"That's fuckin' amazing." I hug you tight, lifting you off your toes. "I didn't even know you got a letter from them."

"Got it the day after yours came."

"You didn't tell me. I thought… You're not just doing this because of me, right? I mean…Bella, do you really _want_ to go to Stanford?"

You take a step back, grabbing my hands and holding them between us. "I won't lie. You played a part in my decision. Obviously."

"But it—"

"_But_ I did my research and decided I really want Stanford."

"Really?"

"Truly."

"God, that's the best news ever." I pull you close again and kiss your forehead.

"By the way, what was it you said to me when I was walking back to my seat? Olive juice?" you tease.

"Nope."

"Elephant shoes?"

"You know I didn't."

You press your lips to mine, keeping the kiss brief since we're waiting for our parents, and then whisper, "I love you, too."

"Good," I say. "Because you're gonna have to put up with me every day for the next four years."

"At least."

My face gets hot.

Because who knows?

* * *

We have dinner with our parents at a nice place in the city. It's the first time they've met. They take to each other quickly, which is a good thing and an aggravating thing all at once, because they gang up and tease us relentlessly. After dinner, they go on to meet Alice's mom and dad at some wine bar, and we hightail it back home. Because you're friends with Rose Hale, we scored an invite to Emmett McCarty's graduation party. It's supposed to be a rager.

And it is. There's a keg and food and loud music. Kids are getting drunk in the backyard and blazed in the basement. I grab a beer for each of us, and we go where the party takes us…which is eventually down to the basement. Mike Newton is there, of course. He's eyeing you in a way that makes me seethe, but he only shrugs when I glare at him.

That's all right. I'm taking you home with me tonight. Supposedly, you and Alice are staying at Rose's. It's risky, but we got away with it once before. And there's no way I'm taking you back to your dad all tipsy and smelling like weed.

We share a blunt with Alice and Jasper when they arrive. I'm mellow and happy, loose, splayed on the floor, leaning back against the wall with you sitting between my legs. You sag against me, equal parts giggly and chill, and I don't see how life could get much better than this.

"I need snacks," Jasper announces. He gets to his feet and pulls Alice up with him.

"Need anything?" I murmur into your ear.

You shake your head. "I'm good."

"_Yeah_, you are." I kiss the side of your neck, letting my tongue peek out, making you squirm. "Wanna get out of here?"

"Okay," you breathe.

I push you up, smacking your butt when we're on our feet, and you spin around with your mouth open. I cover it with mine before you can get a word in. With my hands on your hips, I push you into a corner, sweeping my tongue over yours again and again. You clutch the sides of my t-shirt in your fists as I lean in, pressing against you. I'm hard and needy, and you moaning into my mouth isn't helping matters.

"I gotta get you alone," I mumble before I attack your mouth again. If there weren't so many people to hide behind in here, I'd almost be embarrassed.

"Then you should probably let me out of the corner."

I groan and duck down to lean my forehead on your shoulder. "I need a sec."

Your hands move up and down my sides as you drop little kisses against my neck.

"That's not helping."

"Sorry."

"No, you're not."

"No, I'm really not."

I raise my head and give you a lazy grin while I reach into my jeans to adjust myself. "Let's go, then."

* * *

**A/N: **Y'all. Things were going in a completely different direction in my head as far as the college thing. But when I sat down to write it, this is what ended up coming out. Hope you like it. :)


	25. Chapter 25

_June 8, 1996_

We walk the few blocks to my house. The windows are dark, which means my parents are either in bed or not home yet. A peek inside the garage confirms it. They drove my mom's car today, and Dad's is the only one there. Still, I rush you inside, slinging your overnight bag over my shoulder and steering you up the stairs with my hands on your hips. Ditching your bag on the floor, I lock the door to my room and attack you. Your eyes are glazed over, and your grin is loose. I laugh lowly when I think back to something you said after our first date.

"Remember that time you said you didn't want to lose your inhibitions in my bedroom?"

"Did I say that?"

"Uh-huh."

"Hm. Must've been temporarily insane."

"That's good to hear." My hands sneak under your short dress and roam freely, drifting over the curve of your ass and up your back to unhook your bra. You work that magic where you slip it off under your clothes, laughing as you throw it across the room.

I drop down into my beanbag and pull you with me until you're straddling my lap. I can't remember if my boner from earlier ever went away, but if it did, it's right back at attention. You grind against it and trail your tongue up my neck before stripping off my shirt.

"I've got another surprise for you," you whisper when your mouth reaches my ear.

"I dunno if it can top the other one, but you can try."

"I'm on the pill."

It takes a minute to dawn on me, because I go half deaf and dumb when you roll your hips over me, grinding hard. I hold you still when I get it. "Does that mean…?"

"Uh-huh."

Immediately, I grasp the hem of your dress and pull it over your head. "Up," I growl. You stand up, and I slide your underwear down and kiss between your legs. Panting, you push my head away and move across the room, perfect tits bouncing when you fling yourself down on the bed.

"Jesus, Bella," I mutter. This isn't gonna last all that long if you keep teasing me like this. But I've got big plans. It won't be the last time tonight. Far from it. I yank my jeans open and get them off in record time. "You're sexy."

"Get over here," you breathe.

"Gladly." I crawl over you and settle down between the cradle of your hips, wasting no time. "You're sure no cond—"

"No way." You pull me down with your hands in my hair. "I wanna feel you."

Contrary to what I actually _want_ to do, I push inside you slowly, needing to savor every inch. The curse I mutter is probably a little too loud, but feeling you bare is intense. Hot. Wet. Soft. Everything. I hold still for a few seconds, gathering my wits, but then you bend your knees and spread them farther apart, and I sink in just a bit more.

"Oh, hell," I mutter. Every muscle in my body is tensed to the max as I struggle to hold back, resting my forehead on your shoulder. Your hands go to my ass and push until I'm as deep as I can go.

"Edward," you whine and nudge me up with your hips.

When I'm sure I won't ruin things completely by finishing before we've really started, I pull halfway out, thrusting back in harder than I would if I were…a little more sober. The noise you make is loud and sexy, so I do it again. And again. I love being with you in any way, love taking my time and paying close attention to every part of you, but this…_this_… Driving into you like we've done this a hundred times, feeling you like I never have before, catching your high-pitched noises with my mouth and groaning into yours…

Your clutching hands leave my back to reach for the headboard. I never expected that to look so hot, but Jesus. Sitting back on my knees, I watch your lips part when you try to form words, watch your eyes squeeze shut when holding my gaze becomes too much, watch your tits bounce when I thrust hard. It's too much. And then your eyes fly open, and your words…

"I wanna—try something," you say, pushing me back with your heels on my thighs. I don't know if it's all the excitement, the imbibing from the party, or just the heat of the moment, but whatever it is that's making you even bolder than normal, I want to bottle it up and keep a store of it somewhere. My eyes grow wide when you turn over onto your stomach and push up to your knees, looking back at me over your shoulder.

"You want…?" Words stick in my throat, because how much fucking luckier can I get?

"I want to try this."

I blow out a deep breath and skim my hands over your back, the curve of your ass, your hips. From this angle, I can see everything. _Everything_. I watch myself slide inside you and feel you clench around me. I pause, even though it's really difficult to keep still. "Okay?"

"So good."

I pull back and thrust once. "Yeah?"

You gasp and clench again. "It's different. _Good_ different. Oh! _Amazing_ different," you amend when I move faster. "There's this spot…"

It feels different this way for me, too. I want to pay attention to your sounds and movements, but I'm sort of mesmerized by what's in front of me. It becomes too much, and I don't think I can hold out much longer.

"Bella. Do I pull out or—"

"No!" you practically shout. "Don't."

I start to slip my hand around your hip to help you out, but you beat me to it. You're touching yourself. While I'm inside you. I didn't think it was possible to be more turned on in this moment. But I am. "I can't…" I let go, clutching your hips and thrusting, and, "_Fuck_…" I mutter, because this is fucking rapture.

"Oh, God. I can feel…" You bury your face in the pillow to muffle your voice as you pulse around me. I've never heard you so _loud_ before.

* * *

I learn something new about you tonight. You snore when you've been drinking. It's just the quietest, faintest hint of a snore, but it's there. It's kind of cute. You're sprawled out on your stomach with your head on my chest and your arm slung low around my waist. I run a hand through your long hair over and over again and kiss your forehead from time to time. You crashed hard soon after our second round, but I don't want to sleep. I don't want to waste a second with you.

My parents came in about an hour ago. Mom tapped lightly on my door and said, "Night, Edward," in a soft voice. She does it every time she comes home late. She never actually checks to see if I'm awake. It's become a comforting gesture for me, and I think it is for her, too.

It was weird _doing it_ when we knew my parents were home, but it also sort of added to the thrill.

You stir in your sleep, hooking your leg around mine, and I kiss the top of your head again. I chuckle quietly and just lie there, listening to the soft music coming from the clock radio on my bedside table and thinking. About how lucky I am. About how much I love you. About how excited I am that we won't be separated for college after all.

Who knows? Maybe we won't _ever_ have to be separated.


	26. Chapter 26

_July 7th, 1996_

Your eyes are pinkish and swollen when you open your front door.

"Whoa, what—"

"Let's go," you say sharply, grabbing your bag and hustling me away from the threshold. You don't say anything once we're in the car; you're silent until I pull into a spot at the skate park. As soon as I put the car in park and unbuckle my seatbelt, you burst into tears.

My anxiety level is at an all-time high. "What's wrong?" I brush strands of hair damp with tears from your face and kiss your temple. "Talk to me, dollface." I've never seen you like this. Ever. I don't think I've ever seen you cry, period. "What's going on?"

You shake your head slowly. "My d—" A stuttering breath interrupts your words. "Dad. He said"—you break off to breathe deeply again—"he said he thinks I'm settling."

"Settling for…" My eyebrows draw together in confusion, but an ache spreads through my chest when I understand. "Me?"

You don't hesitate to say no. "He likes you. He does. He just said we're young."

"Okay…we _are_ young."

"He thinks we spend too much time together and we're too clingy."

"What?"

You nod and swipe your fingers under your eyes, where your makeup has started to run. "He's worried that I made the decision to go to Stanford for the wrong reasons and that maybe we should slow things down, have whatever stupid college experience people are _supposed_ to have."

This is a total shock to me. Both of your parents have seemed cool with our relationship from the beginning. "Where's this coming from?"

"I think after I got upset about the Berkeley thing, he thought I really wanted to go there. So when I switched to Stanford after you got in, I guess he thought it was just because of you."

I swallow hard and squeeze your hand, letting you know that I'm here. It's me. You can tell me the truth. "Is it, Bella?"

You shake your head slowly, looking kind of hurt, and I almost regret asking you. But it's also sort of a valid question. I don't push. I just hold you, petting your hair, murmuring an occasional, "Shhh." Eventually, you fall silent except for the occasional hiccup, which makes me smile. "Look," I say, remembering the surprise I stashed for you. "I brought you something." Opening the glovebox, I nudge your head from my shoulder and pull out one package of Airheads and one package of Atomic Fireballs.

You stare for a minute, and there's that beautiful smile. It even shines in your pink, watery eyes.

"Remember?"

"Of course. The first time I kissed you."

I have to laugh, because yeah, that _is _how it happened, and I love it. "You're still my Atomic Fireball. But Bella…_are_ you doing it for the right reasons?"

"You don't think us being together is a good enough reason."

"It's not that. I—"

"I'm not some silly, lovesick kid. I did my research. I really feel like Stanford's the better school for me."

I search your eyes for even a hint of uncertainty, but there's none there.

"I love you so much, Edward. I do. But please don't have such little faith in me."

"Bella—"

"I _know_ what I'm doing."

I give it a minute to make sure you're really done this time, then rub my thumb across your cheek. "I know you do. I have complete faith in you."

"Thank you."

Wiping the drying tracks of tears from your face, I pull you close again, knowing exactly how to cheer you up. My lips find yours, and with your head cradled in my hands, I show you how much I love you. I pour everything I've ever felt for you into that kiss.

…until a loud knock on the window makes us jump and break apart.

"Yo, lovebirds!" Jasper shouts from outside. "Quit sucking face and get out here."

I flip him off over my shoulder, unwilling to look at anything or anyone other than you right now. You seem a little dazed, blinking and breathing rapidly.

"We'll be okay," I murmur, kissing the corners of your mouth one last time. "No matter what."

* * *

Alice's hair is blue again. Since she started dyeing it a couple of years ago, it's always been blue. She changed it to purple when she and Jasper hooked up, but it's definitely bright blue now. I watch her gesturing wildly, making you laugh as you sit side by side, feet dangling over the edge of the empty concrete pool-turned-skate-park. My attention is diverted momentarily by your bare legs, which look amazing in the short jean shorts you're wearing. I love your dresses, but those shorts… Let's just say they were the catalyst for a rather obscene afternoon at the houseboat once.

As if you can feel my eyes on you, you turn toward me and wave happily. Jasper stomps on the end of his board and catches it, muttering something to himself.

"What's with you?" I ask him. "You've been pissy all day."

"Nothing," he snaps.

"Don't take it out on me, then."

He sighs and scratches the back of his neck. "Alice broke up with me."

_Oh_. "Shit. Sorry, man."

"It's…whatever."

"But you're here together?"

"She said she wants to be friends, so, you know. I'm trying."

He definitely doesn't seem okay with that. I don't know if I could do it. If we broke up… I don't even want to imagine it, but if we did, I don't know that I could act like just your friend. It'd kill me.

Jasper shrugs, tosses his board down, and takes off again. I glance back at you and Alice before I follow him.

* * *

"It sucks Jasper and Alice broke up," I say later that night as we sit on the curb between our houses, just like early days. The air's sticky, and my ice cream's starting to drip down the side of my waffle cone.

"Yeah."

"Did you know?"

You shake your head and lick chocolate off your hand. "She just told me this afternoon."

"Huh. I wonder why."

"Hmm?"

"Why she didn't say anything to either of us."

"I think it just happened a couple of days ago."

"Still."

You raise an eyebrow at me. "This is really bothering you, isn't it?"

I shrug and take a bite of my cone.

"What's up?" you prompt.

"She dyed her hair again."

"Aaaand?"

I sigh. "She dyed it purple when they started dating. And they just broke up, and it's already different again."

"I think you might be reading a bit too much into that. You sound a little like a girl."

My smile is weak, but yeah, I guess I do sound ridiculous. "It's just…she didn't seem that sad about it."

"Oh. That's definitely an act."

"You think?"

"Trust me. This is an act of self-preservation. She said it'd just be prolonging the inevitable. He'll be in Texas; she'll be in L.A."

"I guess," I say, sighing. "Jasper was pretty down."

"She hates it, too," you say, finishing off your cone, "but you know her. Avoidance."

"Hm. She didn't think avoidance was the answer when she was threatening to beat me up over you."

"When did she do that?"

"Are you kidding me? The day after the Tanya thing. Alice was on the phone first thing in the morning and said I had to apologize immediately."

"What?" You shake your head slowly. "I had no idea. She told me you wanted to apologize face to face. Guess I assumed it was all you."

"She called me every name in the book."

"So…you were _forced_ to apologize to me?"

_Shit_. My panic is short-lived, because you raise an eyebrow and smirk at me before I even say a word. "You're bad," I say.

"I _can_ be."

I chuckle and scrub my hands through my hair, because that kind of talk combined with those short shorts can only lead to trouble.

And you know it, too.

"I don't know how he's doing it. Jasper. I don't think I could be 'just friends' with you."

At first, you look hurt, but I can see the wheels turning inside your head.

"I think I know what you mean. It'd hurt. A lot." You rest a hand on my leg and squeeze. "Good thing we don't have to worry about that."

"Yeah."

"You're stuck with me now. There's no going back." Your fake evil laugh makes me smile, and I kiss away a spot of chocolate from your top lip.

"Nope. I've got you for good."

You swallow so hard I can hear it. "For good?"

"For keeps."


	27. Chapter 27

_July 8th, 1996_

"Should I…talk to your dad?" I ask the day after your little meltdown. We're sitting in my room, going through my CDs and deciding what I should and shouldn't take when we move.

"What? No!" You crumple up your empty Sour Patch Kids bag and throw it at me playfully. "I'm not worried about that."

"Could've fooled me. You seemed pretty upset about it before."

"I tend to overreact when I have PMS."

"Oh my god, Bella." I push the heels of my palms against my eyes. It makes sense now that your mom asked you that before.

"What? You'll have to get used to that sort of thing if we're gonna live together."

This is news to me. "Live together, huh?"

"I'm sure we'll shack up eventually."

Pulling you into my arms, I laugh and kiss the top of your head. "Trust me. If we could get away with it, I'd move in with you tomorrow."

"Maybe we'll have cool roommates who don't mind disappearing once in a while," you say, yawning and stretching out on the floor.

"Maybe." We go back to sorting through my CDs and listening to Nirvana and making big plans for our big future.

* * *

You're a list maker. And you're forcing me to be one, too. Actually, the list is in your handwriting, so basically I'm just doing as I'm told.

"You're going to need two sets of bedsheets," you say, making a tick mark on your notepad.

"Why two?"

"What'll you use while you wash the others?"

"How long does it take to wash sheets?"

You eye the mountain of laundry on my floor. "Well, knowing you, they'll sit in a pile in the corner until you actually get around to washing them, so yeah. You need at _least_ two."

"Can't you just wash them for me?"

"Seriously?"

"Well, I _was_ but—"

"Okay." Dropping the list, you slump into my desk chair and bang your forehead against the desk. "Maybe your mom should help you with this crap."

"But it's so much more fun this way," I tease, tugging your ponytail and kissing the back of your neck.

"Yeah, if you'd cooperate."

"Okay. I'll be good." I pick your notepad up from the floor and skim the list. "You didn't write 'supersized box of Trojans' on here."

"That's it." You jump up and tackle me, and we land on a heap of my laundry, laughing and wrestling. Using your knees, you pin my arms at my side. "We don't use those anymore anyway."

"Sexual exploration. Aren't we supposed to find ourselves in college? What if we find ourselves with a third—"

"That'll be enough of that, Romeo."

I chuckle and roll you over onto your back, silencing you with my mouth on your neck.

"Ew," you say absentmindedly. "Are these your dirty clothes?"

"Mmf."

"Gross, Edward. Please don't tell me I'm lying on your _cleanup_ towel or something. If you know what I mean."

I raise my head and give you a smug grin. "I don't need one of those. I've got you. No solo love here."

"Oh, really? I seem to recall this one night on the phone when I was out of town a couple of weekends ago…"

"Oh, yeah. That." Turning my attention back to your neck, I can't help smiling against your skin. "Yeah. That was a good night."

You gasp. "I wasn't even here!"

"Okay, so it wasn't _as_ good, but… Trust me. There was a good bit of cleanup after that. Fourth most erotic experience of my life."

"Mmm." Your head lolls to the side when I graze your skin with my teeth. "Wait, there's a top _four_? What were the first three?"

Sneaking my hand between your legs, I put my lips to your ear and whisper, "The first time I made you come."

A whimper drops from your mouth as I press my thumb against the seam of your shorts.

"Our first time together." I work my way underneath and find the edge of your panties.

"Oh," you whine.

"The first time we did it from behind." My fingers find wet skin and immediately start rubbing small, tight circles. "You want the rest of the list?"

"Yeah," you breathe.

"The first time I felt you without a condom."

Your hands go to my hair.

"The first time I went down on you."

Another whimper.

"The first time you went down on _me_."

"Edward," you whine, and I know you're close.

"The time we went on a hike and did it against a big rock."

You tense and fall apart in my arms, humming into my mouth as I kiss you hard. I listen and feel and take your cues, stilling my hand when you come down.

"_Jesus_," you murmur.

"Mm." My lips are attached to your neck again.

"Wait. That last one…"

"Mm-hmm."

"That didn't happen."

I detach and admire my handiwork—a nice red circle at the bottom curve of your neck. "No, but there are lots of cool places for hiking in northern California."

* * *

**A/N: **I'm really sad to say that things are starting to wrap up. :( From the looks of things, there'll be one more chapter and then the epilogue. Thanks so much for reading and for all the lovely things you say. Love to Rachelfish for being my sounding board and my "f'real bff, dude."


	28. Chapter 28

_September 17, 1996_

A fucking twelve-hour drive. With my parents. I don't know why we couldn't just ship my stuff and fly down. Instead, we're driving my car down to Stanford, and my parents are flying back home. Jerks. Just kidding. I love 'em. But twelve hours in a car with my mom and dad? Without you as a buffer?

No.

God, I wish you didn't have to ride with your own parents.

The bad thing about mine being such busy people is that when we do have a good amount of time together, there are _so_ many questions.

Questions like, "Are you being safe?"

Answers like, "Christ, Mom, I'm not talking about this with you."

Rambling statements like, "It's okay if you're, you know, sexually active. And it's okay if you're not. The important thing is that you're being safe."

Then, when they don't give up, there are rebuttals like, "Bella's on the pill, okay?!"

That seems to satisfy them, because they share an odd look and go back to whatever parents chatter about on road trips. I stick my earphones back on and press play on my Discman.

* * *

Officer Dad's calmed down a lot. It helps that our dorm rooms aren't in the same building. You're in Alondra at East FloMo, and I'm in Roble Hall. It might be a good thing. If we lived in the same place, it'd be too tempting to spend every minute together, and let's face it. Everyone needs space at some point. Luckily, our buildings aren't too far away from each other. Still, Charlie—which he eventually told me to call him—stalks the RAs and asks a million questions. He relaxes completely when he meets your roommate Angela's family, especially her dad, who's a reverend. I guess he's never heard that preachers' kids can misbehave with the best of them. Of course, I keep that to myself.

My parents and I dropped my stuff off at my dorm, met my roommate, Tyler, and wandered around a bit before making our way to yours. As soon as I hit the threshold, your wide eyes begged, _Help me._ I just stood back as my mom hurried to join yours, more interested in hanging your pictures and posters and rearranging your furniture than she was in mine. You duck under my arm, and I pull you against my side.

"I'll probably just change it all when they're gone," you mutter.

"They just want to feel helpful," my dad says, putting his arm around you on the other side. He and Mom have become as fond of you as I have…just in a different way.

I'm glad our parents get along. Sometimes I wonder how I got so lucky, wonder how my life changed so much over the last few months, so quickly and completely, but I never question it.

* * *

After dinner with our parents, we go our separate ways for half-tearful goodbyes. I'm actually nervous. Sure, I've spent a lot of time on my own, but I've always known where my parents were, always felt safe in our home when they were away. Now I'm in this unfamiliar place, and I'm not too macho to admit that I'm a little unnerved. Dad ruffles my hair and pulls me roughly into a hug. Mom, shorty that she is, wraps her arms around my torso and leans her head against my chest, inhaling heavily.

"Mom," I say, "did you just…smell me?"

She nods and sniffles a little.

"I swear this is a clean shirt."

"I can still remember your newborn scent," she says wistfully.

"Are you serious right now?" I'm half amused and half embarrassed, looking over my shoulder to make sure no one's within earshot.

"Sorry. You might be a grown _man_, but you're still my baby."

Though I'm technically an adult at eighteen, it feels really weird when she calls me a man. I still feel like a kid. Like they're dropping me off at summer camp and will be back in four weeks to pick me up.

"Esme," Dad says with a deep chuckle.

"Sorry," she repeats, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue.

"Well"—I check my nonexistent watch—"don't you guys have an early flight tomorrow? You should probably get to your hotel."

Mom's shrugs her shoulders and opens her arms for one last hug. "We'll probably find a bar somewhere with the Swans tonight," she says through a teary laugh.

I snort. "Great."

Dad pulls me into a tight embrace, clapping me on the back. "Love you, son." If I'm not mistaken, his voice sounds gruff, too. "See you at Thanksgiving?"

My throat's a little tight as I nod and tell them I love them once more. And then they're gone, and I'm alone in my room with no idea of what to do next. My roommate must've gone off with his parents, too. I figure now's as good a time as any to start unpacking, which to me, consists of unzipping my duffel bag and turning it upside down until all of my clothes shake out onto the bed. An envelope falls out of the pocket onto the pile of t-shirts and jeans. It's a note from my mom. And there's cash in it. Sweet. There's another one addressed to you in her handwriting. I lay it out on my bed so I'll remember to bring it when we meet in half an hour.

Tyler comes in after a few minutes, and we talk some while we unpack. He's from Portland, he says. He's got a girlfriend who, coincidentally, went up to UW for school, and he's not sure how long they'll last. I tell him a little about you. He asks if your roommate's hot. I tell him I honestly have no idea, because all I ever see when I'm with you _is_ you.

* * *

"Hey, you," you say when we meet outside your place. I can tell you've been crying, which I expected. You band your arms around my waist; mine go around your shoulders.

I press a kiss to your forehead. "Okay?"

"I found your note."

"Oh, yeah?"

You nod. "Sneaky."

During dinner tonight, I tucked the letter I wrote two nights ago into your purse. As I was lying in my bed at home for the last time—at least for a couple of months—mind racing with nervous excitement, I wondered how much has changed since I read your letter for the first time. How much _we've_ changed. So I got up and pulled the letter, soft and wrinkled now, from between the pages of that same novel in my nightstand drawer. I remember how intrigued I was then. I remember how pretty I thought you were when Alice dragged you toward me at school that first morning. I remember when you grabbed me by the front of my shirt and kissed me.

My eyes swept over the page again and again, and my heart was so full. I had the strongest urge to call you and tell you how fucking much I love you, how much I want you with me always. But it was one in the morning. I did the next best thing and jumped out of bed, rummaging through my desk for a notepad and a pen. I'm not good with words like you are, and one piece of notebook paper could never be enough to accommodate everything I've ever felt for you, but that page overflowed with the best words I could think of in the end.

"I don't even know what to say except that I love you more than I could ever say," you whisper, squeezing your arms around me and tilting your face up for a kiss. "And I'm so happy we're here together."

"Me too," I murmur. "On both counts."

We meander around campus, which is still sort of bustling with move-in day excitement, despite the fact that sunset was a couple of hours ago. Eventually, we find ourselves at the main quad and seek out a grassy spot to just sit for a while. Our bubble of familiarity is sure to burst as soon as the sun comes up tomorrow and we try to navigate our way through this next phase of life.

_Take care of my girl,_ your dad told me when he took me aside after dinner.

He has no idea.

Right now, all I want is to stretch out here in the cool grass, just like this, with you leaning back against me between my bent knees.

Right now, under the clear, dark sky and the bright moon, I have it all.

"Hey, Edward?" you whisper after a couple of minutes.

"Hey, dollface." I brush your long hair over one shoulder so I can plant a quick kiss against the side of your neck. You're quiet, though, so I jostle you with my knee. "What's up?"

"Oh. Nothing. Just wanted to hear you call me dollface."

I chuckle and, in one quick move, roll you over onto the grass so that I'm hovering over you. I kiss your lips once, soft and sweet. "What am I gonna do with you?"

You shrug. "Everything."

With any luck, yeah. Everything.

* * *

_September 15, 1996_

_Dear Bella,_

_I don't know __how_ _I was ever oblivious to your existence. I can't even remember not knowing you. I don't remember what it feels like to not be in love with you, to not be completely annihilated by you and your pretty face and your blunt words on a daily basis._

_I couldn't be more thankful that you took the time to notice me and basically call me on my bullshit. I was obsessed with your words. I was so afraid to meet you, because I didn't want you to be wholly unimpressed when I didn't measure up to your expectations…your assumptions. Truthfully, I was sort of nervous you wouldn't measure up to mine, either, because I'd built this perfect version of you in my head. You aren't anything like that version. You're better. _

_You're sweet and spicy, a Fireball, like I called you in the beginning. You're honest and straightforward, but sometimes you're shy. You're fucking gorgeous. The first thing I thought when I saw you for the first time was how pretty you were. You stood in front of me with these wide, Bambi eyes and told me to forget about the letter. As if I could just erase it from my mind. I don't know how I found the courage to approach you again at school. Actually, yes I do. Because I somehow knew that if I didn't talk to you again, I'd regret it for the rest of my life. Maybe that sounds melodramatic, but now I know it's the truth. But I did. I thought I knew how much I wanted you then, from the first time you kissed me. I had no idea what was coming for me._

_I feel more things for you than I ever thought it was possible to feel. I don't even have words to tell you how big my love is for you. It's more than I can grasp._

_Starting this new chapter in our lives together will be so many things. Exciting. Fun. Scary. Probably hard sometimes. But I know we can get through anything if we're together. _

_I'm so lucky to know you._

_I'm so lucky to call you mine._

_For keeps._

_Love Always,_

_Edward_

* * *

**A/N:** I'm so sad to post this! Rachelfish and I have been in mourning all day. Haha. There's an epilogue left, and that's it. I'm going to miss 90s-ward so much! I'll probably end up writing future-takes/outtakes in the future, so be on the lookout.


	29. Chapter 29

_July 30th, 2015_

Most high school relationships don't last all that long. Most high school sweethearts seem to drift away during college—or whatever else comes next. It's not easy to keep something going that started before you were considered an adult. I don't think I'm wrong in saying that the majority of those relationships fizzle out as people grow up and grow apart.

I'm glad ours didn't.

It wasn't easy. There were rough patches along the way. We even broke up for a while near the end of junior year over something stupid I can't remember. After a couple of weeks of not seeing you, not even talking to you, I caved. I called and practically begged. Turns out I didn't have to.

It wasn't long after we got back together that I asked you to marry me.

We _supposedly_ got married after our first year of grad school. What we _actually_ did was elope in the summer after undergrad. You loved having that secret. You spent weekends and breaks and late-night phone calls planning our "official" wedding with our moms and Alice. All while I lay next to you in bed as you traced the band on my left ring finger over and over.

You somehow got off on having it be just between us. You said having that secret turned you on. Eloping was the best idea you ever had.

But you made the most beautiful bride at our wedding. You still do, even fifteen years later.

We never actually made up our mind on the whole _having babies_ thing. But a few months ago, you came to me with worry in your eyes and tension in your body language and told me you were late. Like…really late.

Life just decided for us, I guess.

Now, when I look at your almost six-months-pregnant belly and your glowing face, I can't imagine wanting anything else. It hasn't been the easiest pregnancy in the world. You're just about to turn thirty-seven. We knew the risks. But _nothing_ we'd ever read or heard about could have prepared us for what happened.

Twins. We're having twins.

You've spent the last few weeks on bed rest, and it's driving you absolutely nuts. Thankfully, you were able to take a sabbatical from your job teaching upper-level English classes at UW. Finding out you were pregnant before the last few weeks of spring semester made things a lot easier. And my engineering job with the city of Seattle keeps us more than comfortable.

I have trouble keeping you off your feet when you're awake, though you're tired a lot, so luckily, your waking hours aren't all that many. When I'm at work, our moms and Alice take turns coming over to keep you occupied. You told me you're glad Alice has experience with this whole thing, even though her daughter, Kate, was born five years ago. You say you feel more comfortable asking her things than Renee and my mom. The difference is that she did it on her own. I don't know how she did.

The whole thing was horribly sad. Alice stayed in California after college and ended up marrying a Marine. He was killed overseas when she was eight months pregnant. She refused to move back at first, said she couldn't leave the last place they were together. But time passed, and she started to come alive again and moved back to Seattle a year later. A couple of years after that, she and Jasper hooked back up after they came over for dinner and a game night. I still think you played matchmaker on purpose. You deny it to this day. They got married after another year flew by. It didn't matter to Jasper that Alice had a kid. He loved Kate like she was his own, and he signed adoption papers soon after the wedding.

When we found out you were pregnant, we were both shell-shocked. It had sort of gotten to a point where we assumed we wouldn't have any babies at all. Neither of us had much experience with them. When we heard our babies' heartbeats for the first time, though, that was it. My love for you has always been big. But seeing you lying on an exam table, looking up at me with the same surprise and adoration I felt in that moment, that love somehow grew.

Watching Jasper with Kate is a glimpse into my future that makes me excited for what's about to happen. I'm pretty enamored of Kate, too. Since Alice and I have always been close, she's like a niece to me. The first time she called me Uncle Edward, I was wrapped around her little finger. I can't imagine how wrapped I'll be when I meet our little girl.

Baby A is a girl. We aren't sure what Baby B is yet, because he or she has apparently inherited your stubborn side and hasn't cooperated, but we're hoping to find out today.

"Any guesses?" the ultrasound technician asks, rolling toward the table on her stool. Her name tag says her name is Carmen.

You shiver when she squirts the gel onto your belly. "I think it's a boy."

"Me too," I say, leaning down to kiss your forehead.

A moment later, the black screen flickers to life, and there they are. All I saw the last time we did this were fluttering movements. Now, though, I can see our babies taking shape. I take a deep breath. My chest aches.

"Well," Carmen says, tapping her finger on the screen after a few moments. "See this? Right here?"

I squint at the picture. "Is that…?"

"Baby B is officially a boy."

Perfect. One of each. My eyes sting when I look down to see your ecstatic smile, and somehow, my heart grows even bigger.

"I knew it!" You squeeze my hand and tear your eyes away from the screen to gaze up at me. "Alice owes me twenty bucks."

* * *

_July 31, 2015_

"They're beautiful, aren't they?" you say as we sit together on the couch the next evening.

I raise an eyebrow at you and glance at the sonogram printout for the hundredth time since yesterday. "They're sort of just blurry blobs, dollface."

"But they're beautiful blurry blobs, aren't they?"

I laugh and kiss your temple. "They're the most gorgeous blobs in the history of all blobs. C'mere." Pulling you up by the hand, I situate you across my lap and rest a hand on your belly, where it tends to gravitate whenever you're close. "I love you."

"Love you back." You nestle your face against my neck and drop tiny kisses there. "Edward?"

"Hmm?" I'm having trouble concentrating. Bed rest means it's been almost a month since I've had my way with you.

"I think we should go on a babymoon."

My eyebrows pull together, and I try to shake myself out of what's becoming a cloud of lust. "What's that?"

"You know. Like a honeymoon. But you go before your baby's born. Sort of like a last hurrah."

"Did you make that up?"

"No! It's a thing. Alice told me about it."

I open my eyes and tilt your chin up so I can kiss your lips. "Babymoon," I murmur. "What would this babymoon entail?"

"Anything you want," you say against my lips.

"Anything, huh?"

"Edward?"

"Yeah, dollface?"

"Are you going to just repeat everything I say or give me an actual answer?"

"Hmm." I pretend to think about it, and you pinch my side…hard. "Ow! Cut it out."

"Say yes."

"Under duress? I don't know…"

You're onto me. You know I'm not about to say no to spending uninterrupted alone time with you. You also know that widening those Bambi eyes and poking that full bottom lip out the tiniest bit always works.

"Yes," I say, nipping your lip. "A babymoon sounds amazing. _If_ the doctor clears you next week."

You hop up as quickly as you physically can and plop back down on top of me with your laptop. As soon as you flip it open, pictures of blue water and white sand and palm trees fill the screen. There's also a document filled with what looks like an awful lot of research on a variety of islands and resorts. I lean my head back on the couch and laugh, because of _course_ you concocted a plan before you even approached me.

"What?" Your excited giggle is so cute. "I've had a lot of time on my hands."

"I know." I rub your stomach and feel a little tap against my palm.

You grin up at me. "Did you feel that?"

"I did." I kiss your lips and your cheek and your neck. "Who do you think it is? Baby Dollface or Edward Junior?"

You burst into outright laughter and smack my arm. "We are _not_ having an Edward Junior."

"Aw, come on," I tease. You know I'm not serious, because we've already had that discussion. "How about Masen?" I'm still half-joking, but now that I've said it, I kind of like the idea. You've always liked my middle name anyway.

"Hm. That sounds…kinda good."

My heart skips a beat. "Yeah?"

"It's a possibility." You reach up and kiss me. _Jesus,_ I can't wait until you get the okay from your doctor, because I don't know if I've ever wanted you more than I do today.

* * *

_August 15, 2015_

You get a clean bill of health from your OB, and two weeks later, we find ourselves on a plane. I was a little nervous about you flying, but the doctor assured us that it would be fine, so we decided to go big and do a week in Hawaii. There's plenty to do there, but if I'm honest, I'm more interested in seeing you parade around in one of those bikini tops you bought. After nineteen years, I'm still obsessed with your boobs, and they've become even more fun lately. I doubt I'll be eager to see much other than the inside of our room at the resort and you on top of me. Or in front of me. Or under me, as long as I'm on my knees. Missionary has pretty much become a non-option.

Things were busy over the past two weeks while I prepared to take time off work and we got things ready for our trip. It's officially been a month since I've had you. When the doctor said no sex on bed rest, you shrugged it off. You were at a point where you weren't interested in sex much anyway; but as the weeks have crept by, you've done a one-eighty where that's concerned. I felt bad the couple of times you, well, gave me a hand…or a mouth…but you said you wanted to.

I'm starting to get stiff just thinking about it. I breathe out deeply and reach up to adjust my air vent, closing my eyes and leaning back.

"I can't wait to get there either," you whisper in my ear, palming me through my jeans.

"Jesus, Bella," I mutter. "You can't do things like that. I'm, like, on the verge here."

You look very satisfied with yourself. "Sorry I'm not sorry."

"Oh, you'll be sorry later," I say, sliding my hand up your thigh. "Just wait."

* * *

Babymoons. Wow. I'm not sure if people are _actually_ supposed to behave like they did on their honeymoons, but we pretty much do. And then some.

As soon as we got to our room at the resort, I had the urge to toss you down onto the bed and wreck you. But that's not okay right now. Instead, I stripped you, laid you down on the big, fluffy bed, and put my lips on every inch of you. When I slipped my tongue between your legs, you came almost immediately. I kissed the insides of your spread legs as you recovered, and when you started to squirm again, I went in for round two. I knew it'd be over quickly once I got inside of you.

Yeah. It was. I was a two-pump chump.

We ventured out to the beach about an hour ago, and I thank all deities that you've never been lacking in the confidence department. That little bikini and those swollen breasts? _Fuck. Me._ I pull you close to me in the chest-high water, and you wrap your legs around my waist.

"You're driving me crazy in that getup," I tell you, trailing my nose down your neck and up again.

"Oh?" you say, acting all innocent.

"You know you are."

I slide my palm up your thigh and push your bottoms to the side, finding your clit with my fingers. You squeak and dig your fingers into the back of my neck. I rub slow, lazy circles, and you lean back, which pushes your breasts forward. They're right there, and I could just lean forward and take a nipple into my mouth, but there are people on the beach and in the water not too far from us. You pull yourself back up and bury your face in my neck. I switch to small, tight circles, and when you come, you seal your mouth against my skin to keep from crying out.

When you're still panting and dazed, you unwrap your legs and reach your hand down my board shorts.

"Bella," I groan, hesitant.

You speed your movements. "How else are you gonna get rid of that stiffy?" you whisper against my ear.

I laugh and then groan again when my balls tighten, and then I'm coming. When I'm done, I grab your hands and pull you away from our spot. "That's kind of gross."

"Why?" you ask, running your hands up and down my arms.

"I don't want to be swimming around in my own jizz."

You giggle. "You know you're basically swimming around in whale jizz, right?"

I raise an eyebrow at you. "You're weird."

* * *

_November 9, 2015_

Back in the summer, we wondered if you'd make it to full term. That day came and went over a week ago. When you had early contractions at five months, we were both scared out of our minds. Now, though, we wait for any little twinge. Finally, it happens.

I'm half asleep when I feel movement beside me. That's not unusual. You're pretty uncomfortable these days, which makes for a lot of tossing and turning. And then there are the crazy dreams you've been having, which _also_ make for a lot of tossing and turning. Sometimes, the only place you're comfortable is in the recliner in the living room. I sleep on the couch those nights. I tell myself it's just in case you need anything. Secretly, it's because I hate sleeping without you.

Tonight, though, the movement doesn't stop. I'm fully awake when you put your hand on my shoulder and shake gently.

"Edward?"

"Hm?"

"Edward. Wake up."

"I'm awake," I say, opening my eyes to your pretty face and checking the alarm clock. Just after midnight.

"I think it's…" You wince and put a hand on your admittedly huge belly.

I bolt upright. "Shit. How long?"

You breathe deeply through your nose. "Half an hour? About five minutes apart now."

"Already?" I scramble out of bed and yank on the pair of jeans I keep laid out for this exact scenario. "Did your water break?"

"I'm…not sure."

I hand you your yoga pants and t-shirt. "How do you…?"

"I think it might have. When I peed earlier. I just thought it was a lot of pee." You look sort of embarrassed. "Sorry."

I chuckle and pull you up, wrapping one arm around you. "Why are you apologizing? It's not like you've done this before."

"Ow." You breathe in sharply through your teeth and lean hard against me.

"Okay, that wasn't even five minutes," I say, somewhat alarmed. "Let's get a move on."

* * *

Emma Elizabeth Cullen was born first, right around lunchtime. Masen Charles Cullen proved to be as stubborn as he was through most of your pregnancy. He came almost twenty minutes later. You say he just liked having all that space to himself and wanted to relax for a while. I'm glad you can joke about it, because it honestly got a little scary for me. Not you, though. You handled the whole thing like a champ. I couldn't take my eyes off your face. You'll never be more beautiful to me than you were in that tiny moment in time.

Emma will give you a run for your money, though. Even as a squishy little newborn, she's so pretty. Her tiny little nose and lips and fuzzy head… She's got your pouty lips and these dark blue eyes that you say will change after a while. Hers are different from Masen's. You tell me that you hope they'll turn green like mine. I sort of do, too. If she had your Bambi eyes, I'd be in complete trouble. I tear my eyes away from the bundle in my arms to peek over at you and Masen, who's swaddled against your chest. One of the nurses says he looks just like me, but I see a lot of you in him. His eyes are a darker blue. I'm betting they'll be your warm, sparkling shade of brown in a few months. The fuzz on top of his head is almost the same color as my hair. I'm thinking these two will turn out to be the perfect mix of the best of both of us.

I turn my attention to your beatific smile, feeling like my heart might burst out of my chest. You must feel my gaze on you, because you turn your face up to me and pucker your lips. I blink hard to make the stinging in my eyes go away and lean down to kiss you quickly. We lay the babies on the bed between your bent knees and just stare.

"We did a good job, huh?" you say.

I chuckle softly. "_You_ did a good job."

"You helped a little bit." Your smile is wry, teasing now.

"Seriously, Bella. You did so well. You're"—I search for the perfect word and come up short even when I find one—"amazing."

Your eyes shine with unshed, happy tears, and I bend down to kiss you once more. Footsteps approach outside the doorway, and before I can even look up to see who it is, a figure slams into me and two arms squeeze me tightly. There's only one person that can be.

"Alice." I chuckle and bend down to kiss the top of her head.

"Congratulations, guys," Jasper says, clapping me on the back and kissing your cheek.

Alice perches on the side of your bed and coos over the snoozing babies before scooping Masen up gently into her arms. "He looks just like you, Edward."

I shake my head. "So I'm told."

"You want to hold one?" you ask Jasper.

He looks scared. I forget sometimes that he wasn't around when Kate was born. It feels like they've always been a family.

"I don't know…"

"You can't break her," I tell him, taking Emma from you and nodding to an empty chair. "I promise."

Jasper sits, and though his posture is tense when I get her situated in his arms, he eventually relaxes. "She's teeny," he says, smiling and touching her soft little cheek.

"She's a little smaller than Masen, yeah," I tell him. "But if she's anything like her mom, she'll be sassy enough to make up for it."

"I heard that," you grumble from behind me.

I turn and take your hand in mine, winking at you. "You know I love it."

Alice and Jasper leave after a few minutes to pick Kate up from school. As soon as they're gone, our parents arrive together, bringing food and taking right over.

I kiss my mom's cheek when she hands me a sandwich. "How are you doing, Daddy?"

_Daddy_. Every time I heard that word over the past nine months, my heart lurched. But now it's real. And I couldn't be prouder to hear my mom say it.

"I'm good. We're good."

She beams up at me. "Good."

Her attention is devoted to Emma and Masen for the remainder of their stay. Luckily, our parents don't linger too long. I'm tired. You're exhausted. They know it. They kiss and hug and touch tiny fingers and noses and foreheads one more time before leaving. And then it's just us again. Our little family. It's hard to believe that we grew from two to four in a matter of moments, but I wouldn't have it any other way. You're already half asleep when another nurse comes in to take the babies for a while so we can rest. Before I hand them over, I kiss each baby on the top of their soft, sweet-smelling heads. Part of me doesn't want to let them go. But a bigger part of me knows that we have to take advantage of any sleep we can get now.

I drag the recliner over beside your bed and lean over to kiss your cheek. "I love you, dollface," I whisper against your ear.

Your eyes open halfway, slowly, and you lift one corner of your mouth in a smile. "Love you, Edward. So much."

For almost twenty years, I've felt complete—way more than satisfied with the life I consider myself so incredibly lucky to have. But then these two tiny puzzle pieces I didn't realize were missing came along and shattered my world in the best way. I remember thinking years ago that with you, I had everything. As long as we were together, I had it all.

I had no clue.

Because this? _This_ is everything.

* * *

**A/N:** I'm so, so sad to be posting this! I've loved writing 90s-ward, and I adore and appreciate all of your reviews. Your kind words and enthusiasm for this story are priceless to me. I hate that our ride with these two is over, but there will be a couple of outtakes posted here in the future, too. I *do* have another story in the works. I should start posting it in a week or two. It's a lot different from the sweetness of this one, but it's fun anyway. Thanks for taking the time to read my words! It means a lot. And endless thanks to my Rachelfish for her cheerleading and constant reassurance. You're the best ever.


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